


send the morning

by heartslogos



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Asexual Relationship, Asexuality Spectrum, F/F, F/M, Gen, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-01-05
Updated: 2018-07-08
Packaged: 2018-09-14 22:35:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 110
Words: 127,526
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9207464
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/heartslogos/pseuds/heartslogos
Summary: (heart,could we bear the marvel of this thing?) - "if learned darkness from our searched world " e.e. cummingsAU where all the possible Inquisitors join the Inquisition and a good time is had by all. Also bad times, and terrible times, and the worst of times.Interconnected snapshots and scenes.





	1. Chapter 1

“They like you, you know,” The Iron Bull says taking a seat - uninvited - next to Dorian and settling in, legs spreading out annoyingly wide. Dorian kicks him back into his own space. Bull retreats easily.

“If by _they_ you mean the South, and _like_ means _detest,_ and _me_ means - well _me_ \- then yes, I do know,” Dorian responds.

“True, but I meant _they_ as in Adaar and Lavellan, and _like_ as in they _want you_ ,” The Iron Bull says.

It’s always good to remember that Abyssal Peach burns just as well going back up as it does going down. The Iron Bull’s palm slams against his back, helping to save Dorian from a truly humiliating and undeserved demise and also almost sending Dorian face-first into the floor.

“ _Adaar_?” Dorian says, gaping and gesturing towards the training grounds where the stoic faced Tal-Vashoth normally stands guard.

“No, the younger one,” The Iron Bull says.

“ _Adaar_?” Dorian repeats, baffled, “What about Josephine?”

“One, that Adaar is too much woman for you and you do not deserve her,” The Iron Bull snorts, “Two, the Adaar with the body parts you’d actually enjoy and the stammer you like to ruthlessly tease out of him.”

“Kaaras?” Dorian’s eyebrows raise. “I should hope he likes me. We do an awful lot of research together to _not_ somewhat be fond of each other after picking each other’s brains.”

The Iron Bull rolls his eyes and grunts when something hits his head through the open window behind him. Both of them turn in time to see Ellana climb in, using the Iron Bull’s horns as hand holds as she clambers into the tavern.

“And about Lavellan,” Dorian says as Ellana arranges herself in the seat next to the Iron Bull - Dorian reaches over and as casually as possible fixes her skirt so that her smalls don’t show - before she gives up all pretense of caring about what people think and crawls under the bench to lie down. “I am fairly certain that aside from the fact that he comes to collect his wayward sister from my corner of the library every so often, he has close to no thoughts of me what so ever aside from the, I’m assuming _average_ , thoughts of _damn those Tevinters!_ ”

“Wrong,” The Iron Bull says, “And wrong. But it isn’t my job to convince you otherwise. Just thought I’d give you a heads up. By the way - are you going with the Inquisitor to the Wastes again?”

“Over my dead body.”

-

Herah moves to take the next load of cargo from Maxwell, and as she concentrates on making sure the open box of scrolls doesn’t fall Maxwell lets out a long sigh -

“I love strong women.”

It’s on the tip of Herah’s tongue to reply, _I don’t like little men_ when she notices that he isn’t looking at her. She follows her gaze and snorts so hard her face hurts.

“ _That_ , Trevelyan,” Herah says, kicking the man in the shin, “Is _too much woman_ for you.”

Maxwell lets out an affronted squawk, “Rude, Lieutenant Adaar! Incredibly rude.”

Herah rolls her eyes, “Come on, stop gawking at the Seeker and help me finish unloading these.”

“Lieutenant Adaar,” Herah stops short of almost turning and stepping directly onto the Ambassador. Herah swears that her heart slams against her chest and she almost drops the cargo.

“Ambassador,” Herah says, ignoring the way that Maxwell snickers at the sudden uptick in her voice. She clears her throat, and ignores the first prickle of heat across the back of her neck and shoulders, “What can I do for you?”

“I apologize for interrupting your conversation with Ser Trevelyan - “

“Maxwell is _fine_ Ambassador.”

“ I just wanted to ascertain that all of the Charger’s belongings have arrived?”

“Yes, ma’am,” Herah says, “Just helping to unload the last of it. Their Lieutenant signed off on everything. The Iron Bull’s Chargers are officially set up and moved in.”

“Excellent,” The Ambassador smiles up at her and Herah can’t help smiling back, “Thank you again, Lieutenant Adaar for volunteering to help. We’re just so short on hands - “

“Of course, anything, Ambassador.”

“Speaking of moved in and moving and such,” Maxwell’s boot judges the back of Herah’s calf, “I think we ought to be moving these things so that the Chargers can get things actually sorted out. Apologies for cutting this short, Ambassador.”

“Oh, no, by all means. Thank you, as well, Ser - Maxwell.”

Maxwell grins at the Ambassador and Herah can’t help but turn to look back over her shoulder at the Ambassador as they walk towards the Charger’s assigned lot.

“That,” Maxwell says as soon as they’re out of earshot, “Is too much _lady_ for you.”

“Shut up, Maxwell,” Herah says, “At least the Ambassador knows my name and thinks of it in a neutral, if not amicable light. Remind me about your first impression on the Seeker?”

-

“Is she - ah, simple?” Josephine asks, incredibly embarrassed to ask this question after so long. The Inquisition and the members who make it have been together for months now. And it doesn’t change anything - Ellana, after all, is still a sweet girl regardless of the answer and one of very. Well. _Strange_ talents.

“You mean dim witted?” The Iron Bull asks, offering Leliana a shot from his flask. Leliana contemplates it before holding out her teacup. Josephine has long given up on attempting to reign either of them in during their get togethers. “No. She’s a clever bas.”

“I believe Cassandra once asked Mahanon the same question, back at Haven,” Leliana says. “He answered only when she’s being lazy.”

“It’s a strange question to ask, I suppose,” Josephine says. “She mute and she’s rather. Peculiar. A sweet girl and a wonderful ally, but, well. She has her idiosyncrasies.“

“Nudity being one that half the hold doesn’t particularly mind,” Leliana muses, taking a sip of her now spiked tea and then going to spread some marmalade on a scone. “I’m fairly certain that she threw her tunic directly into a Chantry sister’s face earlier this week before throwing herself on top of some bushes, face first. The Commander got there in time to catch the woman fainting before going red himself and - gentleman that he is - putting his cloak over Ellana’s body and then going to fetch Mahanon.”

“She’s not mute. She talks,” The Iron Bull snorts, “She speaks pretty damn well for someone who never went to a formal school. Real thinker.”

“She _talks_?” Josephine and Leliana turn to look at him, setting down teacup and scone. “She talks to _you_? What about?”

The man shrugs, inspecting a tray of tea sandwiches that look like a tray of crackers in his hands, “Philosophy - mostly. Astronomy. History - mostly war tactics on that subject. Once in a while about the rest of the Inquisition. Mostly the other stuff though. Once spent three hours talking about possible strategies that could have been used in Redcliffe to prevent it being taken by Orlais.”

“When do these talks happen? How come no one else sees them?” Leliana asks, “I would have known about this. Ellana Lavellan debating war tactics with the Iron Bull, Qunari Ben-Hassrath. Where am I during this event?”

“Probably asleep,” The Iron Bull shrugs, “Usually happens before we go to bed and turn out for the night.”

Josephine and Leliana make eye contact.

“Go to bed?”

“As in, _together_?”

The Iron Bull raises an eyebrow, “Well she has to sleep _somewhere_ now that Mahanon and Kaaras are together. What, did you expect her to just wait outside their door and wait for them to finish before they let her in?”

“True,” Josephine admits, “But still - “

“Cole doesn’t sleep,” The Iron Bull ticks off on his fingers, “Herah shares with the rest of the Valo-Kas, Malika is usually up late at the tavern or talking shop with Dagna, and she makes Blackwall uncomfortable so she can’t sleep in the stables.”

“ _Still_ ,” Leliana leans her elbow on the table, close to Josephine so she can look up at him, “She talks to you _and_ you bed together. I didn’t realize you two were so close.”

The Iron Bull gives Leliana a flat look, “I thought these meetings were to talk about how we could help the Inquisition, not gossip about it.”

“That’s the first thirty or so minutes,” Leliana waves her hand. “The rest of it is just stress relief.”


	2. Chapter 2

An arm yanks Evelyn into the tree line as she’s checking for some elf root - she has half a spell at the tips of her fingers when -

“You cannot, I repeat, _cannot_ fall in love with the Commander of the Inquisition,” Maxwell says.

Evelyn lets out a breath and releases the spell anyway.

Maxwell yelps, letting her go in favor of patting the fire out of his coat. It’s a small fire, he’ll live.

“You are my least favorite cousin,” Evelyn says, trudging off, determined to leave him behind.

“Lies. Even if I wasn’t your absolute favorite cousin in the entire world, I’m still not the least favorite. Everyone knows that’s Egerton and that’s because he ferments his own _cheese_ in his _sleeping quarters_ ,” Maxwell gags and Evelyn’s eyes and nose water at the memory. “Anyway, you cannot fall in love with the Commander of the Inquisition, Lyn.”

“I hate it when you call my Lyn,” Evelyn mutters under her breath. “And I am not falling in love with the Commander of the Inquisition, so I don’t see why you’re coming to talk to me about it.”

Maxwell snorts, “ _Please_ , cousin. I know you - you have a romantic streak a mile and a half wide. And he’s the sort that’s right in the damn middle of it. Those curls? That stern jaw?  His polite and humble demeanor? Also the fact that you’re a mage and he’s a templar?”

“ _Maxwell, shut up_ ,” Evelyn says, reaching down to yank a sprig of elf root out and shove it into her collection bag.

“I mean, I know templars and mages have _fantasies_ and I’ve seen your romance collection. Don’t try to tell me you don’t have one. I mailed you one every time I wrote, you must have read them all by now.”

“Contrary to what you think, Maxwell, just because you sent it to me doesn’t mean I read it. Half the time I just tossed them into the fire.”

“I am hurt. So hurt. Point is, _don’t do it_. He was the _Knight Commander_ \- “

“Untrue, he never got promoted that far.”

“If not in title then in everything else. I’m just telling you that it’s a very bad idea. In fact, Bad Idea. Capital letters and all that pomp.”

“Max.”

“Oh, I so hate it when you call me Max. It usually means that you’re about to hit me. And now that you’ve got your magic sorted, I suppose it might mean you’re about to set me on fire.”

“And yet you never shut up,” Evelyn groans as Maxwell snags the collection bag from her hands and bumps her shoulder with his.

“I am your favorite cousin.”

Evelyn sighs and then kicks the back of his leg, causing him to trip and fall down with a loud yelp.

Good to know some things haven’t changed from when they were twelve.

“You _are_ my favorite cousin,” Evelyn admits.

-

“Aclassi, looking sharp as always,” Herah says, waving as Krem walks down past the gates of Haven. “The Chargers are joining?”

“That would be up to the Lady Herald to decide, I suppose,” Krem says, nodding at her. “Valo-kas joined on early, if I recall. Hired before the Conclave?”

“And arrived just barely in time to see it blow, ship was delayed by a storm,” Herah shrugs. “I hope they sign you on, it’d be good to see more familiar faces. Speaking of - the Bull still a cock on legs?”

Krem snorts, “Honestly should be our name. The Cock Charges Ahead, and such.”

Herah turns her head and raises her voice to yell in the direction of the Valo-kas tents, “Hear that Kaaras? You’ve still got a chance.”

“ _You_ \- “ Kaaras chokes, flushing violet, “ _You_ ’re _\- you’re un - you’re unbelievable_.”

“He’ll make someone happy one day,” Krem laughs, “The only _adorable_ Qunari I’ve ever met. Though to be frank, I still can’t believe I know more than one.”

Herah claps him on the shoulder, “I’ll walk you to your horse. Give me the latest details about my favorite rival mercenary band. Also, what’s the deal with this whole up to the Lady Herald to decide thing? They didn’t call you in?”

“Nah, more of an invitation from us to them, to be unorthodox about it,” Krem says, following her as they walk towards the path outside of haven. Herah stops him just as a dwarf woman runs by talking to herself at what seems like a few miles an hour with a ram on her back. Krem stares after her for a bit before he continues walking towards where he left his horse. “Though this entire situation seems unorthodox.”

“That’s Cadash. If you guys join up prepare to see a lot of her. She’s young and she’s got questions for everything under the sky and stars. Wicked good with a sword though.”

“Cadash? Isn’t that Carta?”

“Unorthodox, remember?”

-

“Well, you’re a mage. I mean. Lavellan - Mahanon, your brother? - Mahanon said you were your clan’s First originally. Then Third. And I know enough about the Dalish to know that means you are a mage,” Evelyn says. She can’t help but find herself off put, unsettled -

Ellana is impossible to read and Evelyn has spent the entirety of her life a noble, and then a Circle Mage; the two things you can’t really survive being without learning something about reading people. But Ellana just continues to look at Evelyn like - Evelyn doesn’t even know.

Andraste, it was easier talking to Cassandra for the first time - after the sword and the demons and such.

At least Evelyn has a general idea of what Cassandra would rather hear. Ellana doesn’t seem to really be hearing much of anything, judging from the way Ellana’s gaze has wandered off towards the sky.

Evelyn glances up. Not a single cloud or bird.

“I just - well. Most mages I’ve met, and non-mages to be fair, have an opinion about the mark,” Evelyn says, holding out her hand. Ellana slowly looks down at it and blinks.

Evelyn waits. She does want to know what Ellana thinks - maybe the Dalish would have some sort of clue about it. Though it’s also an excellent ice breaker. Evelyn could use a few more mage friends in her current life. Kaaras is nice and all, but the only other mages around that are really willing to talk to her are Solas and - well. Solas.

Ellana reaches up and starts arranging Evelyn’s hair around her face. Evelyn blinks and tries to move her head back -

“Erm.”

Ellana reaches into a satchel tied around her waist and pulls out a surprisingly fresh and vibrant looking flower. She tucks it into Evelyn’s ear and smiles.

“Thank you?” Evelyn says, and can’t help but feel like she’s been hit by a _dispel_ when Ellana steps back, turns one quarter step to the left, spreads her arms, and falls back into a snowdrift.

Ellana’s loose shawl which had been half-heartedly pinned closed threatens to expose her, and Evelyn doesn’t even know how the woman is going about without shoes to start with, let alone lying down almost naked in the snow.

Then again, they found her walking on ice in nothing at all as if she were taking a stroll during summer. It could be magic. There have been stranger things. In example - Evelyn’s hand.

“So - nothing to say about the strange mark on my hand?” Evelyn asks.

Ellana’s toes happily wiggle in response, and Ellana pats the snowdrift next to her.

Evelyn considers it. And to hell with it, it’s not like people could hate her more -

She joins her in the snow.

-

Bull reaches out, fingertips touching warm skin and hair as he spreads his fingers - palm - out over the back of Ellana’s neck. Ellana reaches back and pulls her hair to the side, over her shoulder as she continues to stretch her arms.

He pages through stolen reports with the other hand. Skinner and Rocky picked them off from their latest skirmish. He’s mostly sure that he can handle these without bringing them to the Spymaster’s attention.

The bed shifts as Ellana moves through her nightly stretches, and the Iron Bull idly palms the moving segments of her back and neck, her shoulder blades.

“The question you asked me months ago,” Ellana says and the Iron Bull doesn’t look up from the stolen papers.

“Yes?”

“You haven’t asked again,” Ellana says.

“No,” The Iron Bull replies. _I do not need to touch you, to be with you._

Ellana is quiet, one of her contemplative silences. She turns under his hand, catching it and bringing it to her face, resting her cheek into his palm.

“Ask me.”

“Have you thought about it?” He asks, looking away from a report on Inquisition stores. He’s not sure why someone would want to smuggle out information on how much soap the Inquisition uses, but he’s glad the information isn’t out all the same.

“Yes,” Ellana says, arranging his fingers to her liking against her skin. He keeps his hand loose and can’t feel a little entertained by the feeling of her moving his fingers. “I have thought about it.”

_I do not need to say yes for you to say yes._

Ellana nuzzles his palm, eyelashes fluttering against his skin as she leans in to sigh against his skin.

And then she pauses, the corner of her mouth against the mound of his palm.

“Ask me again, the Iron Bull,” She says.


	3. Chapter 3

“For what it is worth,” Maxwell’s eyes are a warm almost glowing brown in the afternoon sunlight, “I am sorry that you did not have more time together. But I am happy that you were able to have that kind of love, for however long it was.”

Cassandra is - surprised, is a word to use. Touched is yet another. Regalyan was lifetimes ago. But he is still a ghost in the shadows of her heart, a _what if_ that she cannot shake no matter how hard she pushes forward; how long she persists without him.

“Thank you,” She says instead.

“I haven’t had a love of my life yet, but to have had it and lost it - that is something I cannot imagine the pain of. Still, better to have had and lost to never have had at all, or so they say.” Maxwell says, mouth turning up at the corners. Cassandra raises an eyebrow.

“I do not know if I am insulted or not.”

“Ah, but isn’t that unfair to you and to me if I say that about you?” Maxwell tilts his head. “Because we are not even yet courting, you haven’t said yes. So if I were to say that _you_ are to be the love of my life, that’s quite unfair of me to put that sort of pressure on you. And let’s be honest, neither of us know if that’s true or not. We don’t know each other that well. I, personally, would love to know you better. And possibly, _possibly_ become more familiar than friends. But should I say that you are the love of my life? No, that would be quite absurd.”

“Maxwell, you are _very_ absurd,” Cassandra points out. She’s fairly certain that the only reason why Maxwell and Dorian tend to be at odds with each other so often is because of how similar the two are. Whenever Solas or Vivienne want to annoy Dorian they just say he’s acting like Maxwell.

(“ _False_ ,” She once heard Dorian exclaim, “It is Maxwell who acts like _me_.”)

“True, but I try to be in only the wonderful ways,” Maxwell replies, winking, “The ways that would hopefully make me more interesting to strong women.”

“I’m surprised you didn’t pursue Herah instead, she is, after all, closer to you in age,” Cassandra admits.

“Ah, but in Herah’s words - _I don’t like small men_ ,” Maxwell intones and Cassandra snorts, “Also she’s got Josephine.”

Cassandra blinks, “Got Josephine?”

Maxwell waves a hand - gesturing towards the main hall - “Josephine. You know. Come on, Cassandra - I know sometimes you miss things, it’s one of the many features of yours I find quite adorable - but you couldn’t have missed how that woman turns into a giant melting mess in front of or adjacent to the Ambassador at every turn.”

“I - yes, I noticed - but. She doesn’t _have_ Josephine. They are not together,” Cassandra says, “They cannot be.”

“Why not?” Maxwell replies indignant, “Is it because Herah’s a mercenary? Mind you - if you’re one for such strict rules of marriage and relationships I’m going to be in a spot of trouble. Trevelyan I may be but I’m a few steps away from the main family and at this point the only reason why I haven’t been shipped off to the Gray Wardens or been removed from the family registry since I dropped out of being a Templar is because I’m Evelyn’s favorite cousin and am currently looking good with this whole Inquisition thing.”

“No - it’s not. That isn’t an issue, for me, at least,” Cassandra says, tips of her ears feeling a bit hot. “If I were - I mean. _If_. No. That isn’t the problem.”

Maxwell smiles, briefly relieved then looks confused, “Then _what is_?”

“Josephine has a fiance,” Cassandra says.

Maxwell’s eyes widen and his mouth opens into a soft _o_. Cassandra, on one hand, thinks he looks surprisingly - surprisingly _adorable,_ but on the other -

“Maxwell?”

The man holds up a hand, slowly closing his mouth before jumping to his feet and dashing off in the direction of the training grounds, “I’m sorry, I’ve got to - _Herah!_ ”

-

When he first came to Haven, the Herald had met him at the gates and showed him around a bit, introducing him to various people - the Commander, the Ambassador, the Spymaster, the Seeker, Solas, Varric, the Quartermaster, and such. He already knew the Valo-kas and Krem had mentioned something about the Cadash being here. The Iron Bull was surprised that the Herald also mentioned a pair of Dalish elves - he didn’t think they’d send anyone to help the _Inquisition_ to solve what was originally a very human problem. And he was even more surprised that the Herald would bring them up directly.

“Lavellan, _Mahanon_ , I mean - Lavellan is their clan name, but we all got so used to calling Mahanon Lavellan since he was the only one around at first. Mahanon is one of the hunters that helps Threnn with supplies, and sometimes with investigating the area and such. Mostly he goes out to find rams and hares and things. I don’t think you two will cross each other, to be  fairly honest,” Evelyn said as they were walking away from the apothecary’s hut. “It’s his sister you’re more likely to meet. She’s very - ah. Peculiar.”

“What does she do?” He had asked.

“Not much,” Evelyn answered, sounding embarrassed and on the edge about something else - protectiveness, maybe. “Ellana tends to do whatever Ellana feels like doing. She doesn’t really listen to anyone aside from Mahanon and occasionally Herah.”

“She listens to Herah?”

“When she listens to Herah one gets the feeling it’s more like she’s _humoring_ Herah for the fun of it, rather than actually doing what she’s told,” Evelyn replied, “You’ll see her around; since you’re set up near the stables you’ll probably see her there. She makes the animals calm - even the bad ones. Dennet and the other stable hands appreciate her being there for that if nothing else.”

The Iron Bull did not see this Ellana in person for a few days. He saw Mahanon, or what he thought had to be Mahanon given that Mahanon was the only other Dalish elf around and that he’s a man. The elf had walked past him, a brace of hares in one hand, adjusting the strap of his quiver over his shoulder with the other, glanced at him and gave a curt nod before continuing to walk off in the direction of the templar camp.

But he did not see the sister.

Ellana appeared one afternoon, as Evelyn predicted, at the pen while Dennet was guiding a stubborn Lipizzan through its paces. The Iron Bull was only half paying attention when he saw a dark haired woman wearing what could be considered a dress in the vaguest of terms walked up to the fence and then climbed over it to start walking next to the horse.

The horse calmed. The horse obeyed. The woman said nothing.

A few days later, Ellana appeared again, this time in the direction of the templars. She walked through the sparring recruits and knights, swords and shields barely missing clipping her as she meandered through them - and then a pair of sparring recruits almost hit her with their shields before the Commander pulled her back. The Iron Bull watched as the Commander pulled her out of their ranks, and gave her some sort of talking to. The woman gave no response.

He had seen her around, after that, sometimes close. Sometimes not.

Today, however, is the first time she’s really come _to_ him, rather than come _around_ him.

Ellana steps up to him, and without pausing or speaking, raises her hand and lays it flat against his chest over his heart. Ellana’s eyes are focused on her hand on his chest and he feels his eyebrows raising.

“Most people say hello _first_ ,” He says.

Ellana says nothing back, but slides her other hand up underneath the strange wrap around her shoulders - the hem pushes up to show bare skin underneath - and place her hand over her own heart. Ellana’s bare feet are quietly planted in the snow up to her mid-calf and she stands with a hand over his and her heart, silent. She smiles.

“Alright,” The Iron Bull says. He’s used to questions and stares, he is used to being purposefully ignored and outright called out. He’s not quite used to _this_.

So he decides to ask his own question.

“Why did you walk through the swords?” He asks.

Ellana says nothing. She doesn’t even look at him. He wonders if she’s deaf, or mute. He figures someone would have said something if she was - he’s seen Kaaras and Malika with her though, and they didn’t use signs. He knows Kaaras knows signs, because that boy has been studying since they pulled him out of the womb. Malika, from what the Iron Bull can tell, is clever enough to pick up things like that on her own.

Ten minutes later Ellana nods to herself and walks away without a sound.

(Later, that night, the Iron Bull wakes up to a sound outside of his tent. He’s on his elbows, reaching for one of his knives when his eye focus on the shape of the shadow made by the small, soft mage light.

“The reason I walked through the swords is to see if they were aware of who and what was around them,” A woman’s voice, low and surprisingly deep. “Goodnight, the Iron Bull. May your dreams be forgiving.”


	4. Chapter 4

“You, Dalish,” Threnn calls out when she spots the hunter striding past on his way towards the kitchens, a ram slung over his shoulders. The man ignores her and keeps walking. “ _Elf_.”

“I am not named _Dalish_ ,” The man says.

Threnn sighs, “ _Lavellan_.”

He stops walking, turns around, and walks up to her, “What?”

Threnn is never quite sure if Lavellan is cross or not. He’s like this all the time. With everyone.

“I need these herbs,” Threnn holds up the list Adan gave her.

Lavellan continues to look at her, pale brow slowly raising, “And?”

“Can you get them?”

“No,” He says, turning around, Threnn reaches out to stop him - “Just because I’m Dalish and a hunter does not mean I know where every single plant can be found. I’m busy helping feed your organization.”

“We need these,” Threnn says, “Urgently. For the medicines and such. _To keep this organization going.”_

 _“_ I’m busy, it’s not like I can just stop in the middle of chasing rams to pick some plants,” Lavellan says. “Isn’t there someone else you can ask?”

“I’m asking _everyone_ ,” Threnn replies, “But we can’t function on having random people bring in one or two stalks whenever they remember, or even the Herald and her party bringing in a few dozen every few weeks. We need a supply.”

Lavellan sighs, glancing up at the sky and muttering to himself for a moment before focusing his gaze back on her. He kneels down, laying the ram down on the ground, “Wait here.”

He jogs off towards Haven’s gates and Threnn moves the ram behind her so no one gets any strange ideas.

She half doesn’t expect him to come back, but about half an hour later Lavellan returns, dragging the other elf behind him - his sister.

“The list,” Lavellan waves a hand at Threnn, holding his sister by the arm as she tries to pull away. Threnn hands him the list and he turns to his sister, holding it in her face and begins to say something, rapidly and sharply, to her in elven. He shakes her arm until she looks at the list. The woman makes no response, but Lavellan hands Threnn the list and then holds up three fingers to the woman’s face.

“Three days,” Lavellan says.

Slowly the woman makes a circle with her pointer and thumb, _okay_ \- and Lavellan lets her go. Then she promptly raises her other hand and makes another circle with her pointer and thumb, raises both signs to her eyes in the imitation of glasses and marches off, staring at the sky.

Lavellan looks at her, “Where’s my ram?”

“Is she going to do it?” Threnn asks, pulling the ram out and helping Lavellan get it on his shoulders again.

Lavellan shrugs, “I asked.”

And Threnn decides that the two are useless in this matter.

Three days later, Threnn’s attention is drawn away from explaining the need for more ore to Malika by a ripple of sound coming from the main gates. It doesn’t sound like an attack, but Threnn draws a sword just to be sure.

The source of the sound - sounds? - is coming closer and Malika goes to pull her axe -

But it’s Lavellan - the girl.

She’s walking up the path, stark naked, with something strapped to her back and a large bundle underneath one arm.

Lavellan walks right up to Threnn, bare as the day she was born aside from those tattoos, and kneels, unfurling the bundle under her arm to reveal the remains of what was once her skirt around piles and piles and piles of neatly cut, cleaned, and braided elf root. Malika starts laughing and goes to help the woman with the bundle on her back - which was her shawl.

“So that’s where you’ve been,” Malika says as they untie the shawl to reveal spindle weed and all sorts of other things that weren’t even on the list but Threnn is sure will be deeply appreciated anyway.

Threnn raises a hand to her head and Lavellan looks up at her.

“Maker’s fucking cock,” Threnn says, “We have _bags_.”

-

“Well someone has to write to mom,” Malika says, “And somehow send the message. Can’t we just catch a bird or something? I mean - the Spymaster uses crows. I figure I could train a crow. They’re not _rare_ , I mean.”

Uncle Edric groans, dragging a hand down his face, “That’s not how messenger birds work, Malika.”

“Well if we don’t get a message to mom she’s probably going to send the whole Carta down on us,” Malika says. She has a point. Edric’s sister is - dramatic is probably the best way to say it without getting your jaw kicked off your face.

“Perhaps I can be of assistance,” Both of them turn towards the human - Trevelyan, Edric thinks. He overheard the man arguing with some templars earlier. The man holds up an impressive looking hawk on his arm. “You can use mine, I mean. So I suppose I’m volunteering my bird’s assistance. Well, she isn’t my bird exactly. _My_ mother sent her at me and I’m afraid I’m too much of a disappointment to respond properly. But I’m sure that she’d love to carry _your_ message instead of mine. It sounds ever so much more important after all.”

Malika beams, “What a beauty.”

“Isn’t she?” Trevelyan says, “I’m Maxwell, by the way.”

“Malika,” Malika holds out her hand, “And this is my uncle, Edric.”

“Malika, Edric, wonderful to meet you,” Maxwell says, shaking Edric’s hand, “Now if you’d be ever so marvelous and get this bird away from me before she decides to bodily drag me home by the hair.”

“Were you just wandering around hoping to find someone who’d take your bird?” Edric asks.

“Possibly, but who’s to know? I didn’t have to wander very far, did I?” Maxwell shrugs, lowering his arm to Edric’s to allow the bird to move over. “Make sure to send her _very far_ now. Wouldn’t want her coming back _too_ soon.”

-

Dorian finds someone is already sitting in his usual spot in the garden. Lavellan - Mahanon - is carving something and after a quick glance around Dorian spots a foot sticking out of some bushes that is most likely Ellana. And hopefully Ellana, not dead. Dorian is fairly certain that the Inquisitor would be most displeased if one of her dearest friends were to be found dead in her garden.

He considers going back inside, but even he has his limits to being cooped up all day and it is one of the rare tolerable occurrences of tolerable weather at Skyhold.

Dorian takes a seat on the bench next to him.

“I hope you don’t mind terribly,” Dorian says, “But there aren’t that many choices to pick from seat wise.”

Mahanon glances up and nods at him before returning his focus to the wood in his hands. Dorian can’t tell what he’s making, but then again, Dorian has close to no prior exposure to the actual process of woodworking.

Dorian fully intends on focusing on his book, but the Iron Bull’s words keep flitting to the front of his mind, newly renewed and fresh with half the subject of them sitting directly next to him. They don’t even talk that much, and the man is obviously very besotted with Kaaras and two men of such unique backgrounds is unusual enough there is no way, _none what so ever_ , that they could be interested in a third joining their party - and even if they were, Dorian isn’t sure if that’s something _he_ would be interested in. That isn’t to say that either man is unattractive. They aren’t. Unattractive, he means.

“I thought you would read faster,” Mahanon says, slowly turning over the wood in his hands, blowing some shavings off.

“Pardon?” Dorian blinks.

“You’ve been on the same page for almost five minutes,” Mahanon explains, “The way you’re always in the library studying and such, I thought you would read faster.”

“I do read faster,” Dorian says, “I’m just - distracted.”

Mahanon hums. “Too loud?”

“What?”

Mahanon raises an eyebrow, using his wrist to push some strands that have escaped his long braid out of his face, “Is it too loud outside for you?”

“My thoughts yes, the actual surroundings? No,” Dorian says. And before they can slip into silence again - “Are you often out here? In the garden, whittling, I mean.”

“Sometimes I’m by the stables,” Mahanon says, “I only come here when I know the Chantry sisters aren’t by. When they do come back, I’ll leave. So if I suddenly get up and walk away it most likely is not you. As an aside.” Mahanon’s dark eyes flick to Dorian’s face and Dorian catches the hint of a smile at the corner of his lips, “I am told I can be very short with people. It is not my intention, usually. Your pardon, Ser Pavus, if I seem that way.”

“I imagine that when ones sister has a tendency to walk off mid-sentence, one grows to speak quickly and get to the point fast,” Dorian says. Mahanon’s smile grows just a small bit and he nods, gaze returning to his project. Definitely not unattractive.

“The Chantry sisters do get a bit tedious,” Dorian concedes, “Though in my case it’s because I’m from Tevinter. It helps to have someone around, I admit, so ward them off. There are times when I come down here and I don’t see anyone I know and I can’t be bothered to try so I just go back inside.”

“Don’t,” Mahanon says and when Dorian looks back at him the man’s focus is entirely on him, “Find me. This place is your home as much as theirs. I will sit with you.” Mahanon’s teeth make a brief appearance in his smile. “As unlikely a pair we would make, the Dalish hunter and the Tevinter Altus would definitely ward them away. And if not me, Kaaras. He avoids the gardens for the sole purpose of the Chantry sisters’ gossip. A shame.” Mahanon’s smile dims, “Not even I can persuade him to act like the giant he is.”

“A dalish hunter, a Tevinter Altus, and a Qunari Tal-Vashoth walk into a castle garden,” Dorian says, “Stop me if you’ve heard that one before.”

Mahanon barks out a laugh, shaking his head.

“Do you play chess?” Dorian asks and Mahanon hums.

“No, I do not know the rules,” Mahanon’s lips quirk up, “And from the way you lose, I don’t think you do, either.”

“I beg your pardon,” Dorian holds his book to his chest, affronted.

“Is the copious cheating on your side part of the game or desperation? I can’t help but notice it whenever you and the Commander play,” Mahanon continues.

“It isn’t _cheating_. It’s _strategy_ ,” Dorian says. “And it keeps the man on his toes, doesn’t it? Would you - would you like to learn?”

Mahanon hums, “I haven’t seen you win once without cheating.”

“That would be because you don’t see all of our games. I’ll have you know I’m currently in the lead. Four to three.”

“Technicality,” Mahanon says.

“And how would you know that if you don’t know how to play?”

“I don’t, but I know people who do,” Mahanon says, “And when I describe your games to them they laugh.”


	5. Chapter 5

This is comfortable. And comfortable is _dangerous_.

Dorian could fall asleep here, like this. He could get _used_ to this.

Kaaras’ body is wonderfully warm against his back, arm over Dorian’s waist and nose nuzzling the back of Dorian’s head. Mahanon’s eyes are closed and he’s softly humming, arm over Dorian to stroke Kaaras’ side, legs tangled with Dorian’s.

Dorian should leave. He should be getting up and going any time now.

He doesn’t mind being talked about - not with them. They don’t care. There is nothing for them to care about. Let them gossip - and truth be told, Dorian -

Dorian finds that he doesn’t care about who hears about this, about them. He doesn’t care _who_ speculates. He half hopes that rumors make it back to Tevinter just so he can preen about it.

The danger doesn’t come from the wagging tongues, no.

The danger comes from - when this, inevitably, breaks apart or sours. Such is the way of things. That’s how these sorts of relationships all go - and Dorian can’t get used to this. Comfortable. It would hurt too much more when it flitters to pieces and -

Mahanon suddenly gets up, swearing when he trips over someone’s boot, and is across the room -

“Don’t mind him,” Kaaras’ says into Dorian’s ear, pulling Dorian closer as if to make up for the absence of the elf on their other side, “He’s finicky.”

“No, I’m acting my role as eldest here and taking care of you both,” Mahanon says, washing his thighs with a wet cloth, “And you both can thank me later when you wake up not feeling like you’ve just wallowed in incredibly uncomfortable mud all night.”

“Is there such a thing as _comfortable_ mud, though?” Kaaras asks.

Mahanon comes back and holds a fresh cloth out to Dorian.

“Eldest? Since when were you eldest?” Dorian asks, as Mahanon sits down and starts to comb his fingers through his long hair, preparing to braid it again.

“Since I was born?” Mahanon replies, “You do realize that I _am_ the eldest, right? I’m five and thirty summers.” Mahanon tilts his head to look down at Dorian, “You are thirty, if my math is right. And it is.” Mahanon clicks his tongue, “My sister could never abide by poor math.”

“Your sister likes math?” Kaaras asks, when Dorian says -

“Lies, you cannot be five and thirty looking like you’re two and twenty.”

“That’s what I thought, too,” Kaaras says. “I thought he was _my_ age.”

“And how old are _you_?”

“Twenty four.”

“ _A child,”_ Dorian gapes.

“It’s only six years!” Kaaras exclaims, curling tighter around Dorian as if it were part of his arguement, “And I turn twenty five in two months.”

“Imagine how I felt when I learned that,” Mahanon snorts, quickly braiding his pale hair in his long fingers, “I thought he was at least three to thirty. I almost ran.”

“He did,” Kaaras confirms when Dorian checks over his shoulder, the man looks cross. “He literally almost _ran_. Just like that. I caught him. Long arms.”

“That they are,” Dorian says, “I can’t believe it. Four past twenty on one hand and five over thirty on the other. As if this relationship weren’t unusual enough.”

Mahanon ties off his braid and rolls his eyes, moving to get back underneath the covers when he suddenly looks up towards the window. Dorian feels Kaaras move and he looks up and over his shoulder as well to see Ellana climbing in.

“How did she do that?” Kaaras asks the question Dorian is thinking - considering the window faces _the Frostback mountain range_ and a _sheer drop_. “Every time - _how_?”

Ellana disappears onto the floor and Dorian turns to Mahanon -

“Please tell me you don’t make your sister sleep on the floor.”

Mahanon examines his sister over the edge of the bed for a moment before snorting and moving to lie down, “Don’t be ridiculous, Dorian. Sometimes if she’s very good and I’m feeling particularly generous I let her have the foot of the bed. Otherwise she cries all night.”

Dorian isn’t sure if that’s a joke or not, but Ellana pops up wearing Kaaras’ tunic and Dorian’s outer robe - arms spread. She looks at them and barks before jumping over the bed and landing on their legs.

“Knock it off,” Mahanon grumbles, and moves to kick her, but Ellana grabs the edge of the blanket and rolls.

Dorian flinches at the cold air and Mahanon swears - getting back up to wrestle the blankets from his sister.

“Is it like this all the time?” Dorian asks Kaaras who’s reached around and stolen Mahanon’s pillow to put underneath his own.

“Sometimes,” Kaaras says.

Meanwhile Ellana and Mahanon have devolved into a tug of war with the blankets, Mahanon hissing something at Ellana in Dalish and Ellana just hissing back. Dorian does not imagine Ellana as someone particularly fond of maths. Or words.

Ellana suddenly smirks and releases the blankets, causing Mahanon to fall with a loud yelp.

Ellana laughs, waving a hand towards Kaaras and Dorian, “You’re _welcome_ brother dearest.”

He feels Kaaras jolt up next to him and Dorian gapes.

“You _talk_?” Kaaras exclaims and Mahanon stands up, throwing the blankets at them.

“I told you she does, and I told you it’s annoying. Do you hear that? You are _annoying,_ sister dearest.”

-

“So would you call yourself a Dalish elf?”

Solas glances down at the dwarven woman he’s seen running around asking people questions. He turns away and kneels on the ground, laying out the new batch of plant cuttings he’s picked up from the apothecary.

“No,” Solas says and goes back to resume sorting out herbs on the snow. It’s not the most interesting of tasks, but it keeps the hands busy and there isn’t much else for him to be doing.

“Then are you a city elf?”

Solas raises an eyebrow, “No.”

“Then what would you call yourself?” The dwarven woman crouches down, bringing herself back into his line of sight.

“I like to be called Solas,” He replies.

“That’s _who_ you are,” The woman says, “But _what_ are you? What is that? What does this one do? Why are you laying them out like this? Aren’t plants normally dried by being hung upside down?”

“You ask many questions and offer no answers of your own,” Solas says, “What is your name?”

“Malika. Malika Cadash,” The woman says, “Sorry. I get carried away. It’s just - life in the Carta you tend to just know _some things_ that aren’t really particularly _nice_ things and there are so many nice things to know. So. What are you?”

“I am a traveler,” Solas says, “Must I be sorted as city or Dalish elf? Can I not simply exist as an elf?”

“You can,” Malika says after a moment, “But how do you introduce yourself?”

“Solas, a traveler,” Solas answers.

“And when people ask for more?”

“Must I give it?” Solas tilts his head, “Just because a question is asked does not mean an answer must be given. One does not necessarily conclude in the other.”

Malika hums, nodding to herself.

“So do you introduce yourself as a hedge mage or an apostate?”

“Neither,” Solas says and he hears footsteps running towards them and then -

“ _Malika_ , you can’t just go around _classifying_ people,” Solas and Malika look up to see one of the Valo-Kas. The mage Valo-Kas, if Solas remembers correctly. The man looks incredibly contrite. “Did she get to you too?”

“I’m just asking _questions_ , Adaar,” Malika says, standing up, “Relax. You worry too much.”

“I happen to be quite fond of you, Malika,” Adaar says, “And I think it would be a real shame if someone were to arrest you or worse because you don’t have a working sense of tact.”

“Now I think you’re confusing me with someone else,” Malika snorts, “Like Maxwell.”

Adaar makes a face.

“Point is, was she bothering you?”

“No,” Malika says at the same time Solas says, “Beginning to.”

Adaar groans.


	6. Chapter 6

“And here comes your real lover to relieve us of our duties,” Mahanon mutters under his breath and Cullen feels himself flush -

“She isn’t my _lover._ ”

“Shame then,” Mahanon replies, shrugging against Cullen’s side, “Because that woman has been imagining your hair on her babies and there really isn’t any other way for that to happen than if you two go a few horizontal rounds.”

Ellana snickers under her breath, arm falling from Cullen’s waist to intercept Evelyn. Ellana immediately puts her arms around Evelyn and butts her head against Evelyn’s shoulder, whining.

Tonight is the first night that Cullen - and anyone else aside from Mahanon, for that matter - has seen Ellana look anything other than _dreamlike_. This entire Winter Ball nonsense has removed the lovely quality of her face and left her looking a mixture of disturbingly vacant and eerily snobbish the entire night.

“It’s not that bad, is it?” Evelyn says, working her fingers into Ellana’s braid and rubbing at the back of her head as she awkwardly walks them back towards Cullen and Mahanon.

“Scratch my earlier remark,” Mahanon whispers, letting his arm fall from around Cullen’s waist, “By the end of tonight the entire court will think that the entire Inquisition is one open relationship. Congratulations, you’re no longer the Inquisitor’s whore.”

(“The Inquisitor sent us to watch you,” Mahanon says stepping up against Cullen’s left as Ellana takes Cullen’s right arm and puts it around her waist. “We are to deter suitors from her paramour. The only reason we said yes was because Ellana felt incredibly sorry for you.”

Ellana hums and leans her head against Cullen’s chest.

“By the end of tonight they’ll either think that she’s whoring you out or that you are a man of incredibly voracious appetites,” Mahanon says lowly, “Varric will have a manuscript for both stories to his editor by the end of the week.”)

“It’s awful,” Mahanon says, “Every time a flock of women in lace walk by it smells like something died.”

Evelyn’s eyebrows raise, “That’s perfume.”

“Named for the fumes?” Mahanon raises an eyebrow.

“How are things going?” Cullen says in an attempt to get them back on track.

“They’re going,” Evelyn replies, giving him a soft smile, “I wish they’d get going faster because I just came in from checking in with Dorian in the garden and I honestly don’t think he’s going to make it through the night. There’s either going to be a duel for Kaaras’ honor or Dorian is going to get drunk beyond words.”

“This I have to see,” Mahanon says, taking a quick look around before going off in the vague direction of the outdoor gardens, “All these windows and not a single one of them useful. _Shems_.”

“Please tell me you haven’t tried to get out through the windows,” Evelyn says.

“I read the plans,” Mahanon waves a hand and clicks his tongue. Ellana steps away from Evelyn, and trots off after him.

Cullen and Evelyn take a moment to watch the siblings cut through the crowd like a pair of pearl handled knives, glittering and purposeful.

“I’m surprised they’re even wearing their clothes, still, to be perfectly honest,” Evelyn says.

“I think they’ve been using it to block smells,” Cullen replies. Every time someone walked too close to the bubble of personal space they effectively made the two would raise their hands to their noses like a pair of snobbish nobles and start muttering softly.

(“If we pushed them into water,” Mahanon whispered to him, leaning in very close, side pressed all along Cullen’s, “Do you think they’d sink in all that? Or would it make them float?”)

“Thank you for sending them over,” Cullen says. He even managed to relax after a few minutes. Between Ellana’s soft imitations of animals and Mahanon’s quips Cullen was starting to not actively _loathe_ the place.

“Of course,” Evelyn says, “I couldn’t just _leave_ you to suffer. Herah and Kaaras should be coming by any minute now. I would stay longer but - “ She trails off with a sheepish shrug.

“A world and a half to save,” Cullen says, and she stands close enough that if he were to reach out his fingers he could tangle them together with hers. He doesn’t. “Did you set up a _rotation_?”

“A patrol schedule to make you proud,” Evelyn says, stepping even closer. He can almost smell _her_ perfume. Cullen smiles. Evelyn nudges his leg with her boot. “Careful, Commander. Smile like that and you’ll undo all my hard work. I’m trying to show you as _off_ limits, remember?”

“Your pardon, Inquisitor,” Cullen says, trying to force the corners of his mouth to turn down.

“Maker you’re hopeless,” Evelyn says, smiling at him, “I’m going to have to actually beat them off with a stick.”

“Careful,” Cullen says, feeling a sudden spurt of boldness, and reaches out to take her hand, “Smile like that and I may have to take drastic measures.”

“Alright, enough flirting you two,” They break apart, Evelyn’s hand slowly sliding from his own with one last squeeze. Herah walks over with Kaaras trailing behind her, “Don’t we have assassinations to foil and Commanders to give raunchy reputations to? Congratulations, your latest paramours are a pair of Qunari Tal-Vashoth. Budge over your worship, I’ve got to pretend to be arm candy until Mahanon and Dorian are done flirting behind the trellis.”

-

“May I have this dance, Ambassador?” Yvette starts cooing and Josephine gives her sister a look before turning to Maxwell -

“Before you say _no_ ,” Maxwell quickly says, eyes flicking to a point over his shoulder, “Please consider that it’s a shame for you to have no dance partner when you look so beautiful tonight.”

Yvette squeals softly and Maxwell winks at her.

“Apologies, Lady Yvette, but may I borrow your sister for a dance?”

“Take her,” Yvette says and Josephine turns to hiss at her, but Yvette pushes her at Maxwell - “ _Go, go, go_.”

“Yvette, when I get back - “

“Ah, siblings,” Maxwell says, gently taking Josephine’s hand and pulling her towards the stairs to the dance floor, “I’m so glad I don’t have any, but Evelyn more than makes up for that, I suppose.”

“Maxwell, I - “

“Again,” Maxwell says, spinning her into the start position as the quartet begins the first strains for the next dance, “It’s a shame for you to not have at least _one_ dance. And considering that your preferred dance partner isn’t - well.”

Maxwell tilts his head and Josephine looks in the direction he had gestured earlier and now.

Herah waves from the upper floor, leaning on the railing, hair and metal horn rings gleaming in the light.

Josephine’s heart kicks in her chest and she looks back at Maxwell.

“She knows you love to dance,” Maxwell’s eyes soften, “And as out of favor as I am and as far as I am from the main line, we thought I would be somewhat more - well. Palatable. I’m sorry.”

“Thank you,” Josephine says, feet moving out of habit and memory they begin the waltz.

“You look beautiful when you smile,” Maxwell says, “You should, more often. Her words.”

“How do you- ?”

“The wonders of magic,” Maxwell grins, and when Josephine glances up again she notices Kaaras standing just behind Herah.

“Please don’t let them get caught,” Josephine sends a quick prayer to the Maker that they aren’t summarily ejected from the Winter Palace for magic use. At least, not over Josephine.

“Relax and enjoy the moment, Josephine,” Maxwell says, “It’s not that often I dance with a beautiful woman in the place of an equally beautiful woman.”

“Will you dance with Cassandra?” Josephine asks.

“I’m considering asking, but I’d also rather not be quickly and powerfully shot down in front of everyone who would probably write my mother to laugh about it,” Maxwell says. “I’d rather lick my wounds in quiet, preferably with something stronger than champagne.”

“She might not say no,” Josephine points out, “Cassandra is a woman, too. She enjoys being courted as much as anyone else.”

“Ah, but I don’t think she quite enjoys being courted by _me_ ,” Maxwell says. “And enough about my pathetic lack of a love life, let’s get back to _yours_. Herah would like you to know that you have the most wonderful ankles. I don’t know how one judges such thing, but I assume that’s some sort of compliment.”


	7. Chapter 7

“Vishante kaffas! I know how my own damn spell works, you egoistical pedagogic - ”

Evelyn breaks in, talking over Dorian and Vivienne as the three argue about something Malika hasn’t quite caught up to yet.

(“Are you sure you want me there?” Malika asked as they walked towards the rotunda. “I’m no mage. I just ask a lot of questions, is all.”

“Of course I want you there,” Evelyn replied, “I wouldn’t have invited you if I didn’t. Honestly, we need someone with a level head. And who knows? You have an outside perspective. It would help to have a neutral party.”)

Malika turns to Solas who’s sitting down, head in his hands as he takes in slow deep breaths, “Is it always like this?”

“No,” Solas answers, “Normally Kaaras manages to last at least two hours before he needs a break.”

Kaaras is currently stretched out on the divan, cold cloth over his eyes. About thirty minutes in, an argument between himself and Evelyn about a theory on something about _compression this_ and _compacted that_ had him talking and stuttering so much he bit his tongue and started choking.

(“Now look what you’ve done,” Dorian said, “How am I supposed to explain this to Mahanon later?”)

Solas suddenly jumps up and back into the fray, seemingly supporting Dorian against Vivienne as Evelyn stomps over to the seat Solas just vacated and throws herself down on it.

“And this is what happens when you have six mages with all vastly different backgrounds working on the same thing,” Evelyn mutters.

“About that,” Malika points to Ellana, “Not to be - uh - judgmental or anything, but what does Ellana do? I mean, I’ve never actually seen her do magic.”

“Sound effects, mostly,” Evelyn says, as Ellana gets up from where she’d been idly playing with some paper and buttons comes over to them and starts to pick at the table of food that a server brought in about an hour ago when things were slightly more civil. “If Ellana has any input on any of our little discussions she isn’t sharing it.”

Ellana picks at a strawberry pie with her fingers, offering Malika a piece. Malika shakes her head.

As if on cue, Dorian’s voice raises -

“For the last bloody time, _we can’t do that_ because if we did it would go - “ Dorian points at Ellana.

Ellana makes an explosion noise and throws her arms open, pretending to fall down.

“Exactly right, _thank you_ Ellana,” Dorian says.

“What are you guys talking about, exactly?” Malika asks, feeling incredibly overwhelmed and a bit embarrassed to ask.

Evelyn leans forward, “Let me catch you up to speed. It’s something we’ve all been working on for some time - don’t worry if you don’t get it. It’s complex even for those of us who’ve studied magic for ages.” Evelyn gives Malika an encouraging smile. “We’re trying to figure out how to apply Dorian’s theories on time magic - namely, how it can _move_ without the spell being cast multiple times - to spell mines. Tesselations and runes and such. Now, Dorian says it can be done because of the time spell. Vivienne disagrees because it would alter the nature of the spell too much and just change it into a projectile. I don’t quite agree with her, but I support the logic behind her conclusion. Solas doesn’t think it would work because of the exact nature of the spell work being something like a tattoo on the world. You can’t _move_ a mine because it’s been _printed_ in place.”

“And Kaaras?”

“Kaaras and Vivienne agree, but argue over the semantics. It’s interesting if we could get it to work, but the problem is _how_. If you try and move a mine it goes off, exploding all of the original mana at once. It _refuses_ to be moved,” Evelyn explains.

“Printed,” Malika says.

“Exactly,” Evelyn nods. “Feel free to ask questions, by the way. A little known fact about mages - _we love to talk_ about our theories on _everything_. The terrible part is just getting all six of us to try and agree on one particular theory.”

-

“Fair cousin, may I have a word?” Cullen looks up and sees Maxwell approaching and he can’t help the small spark of _hope_ in his chest as he looks back at the Herald. “It concerns that thing we were talking about earlier, you know - that thing I said _not to do?_ Ring any bells? Cousin? Are you ignoring me?”

“Cousin?” _Not husband?_

Cullen remembers the way that Maxwell had ran to Evelyn, lifting her clear off her feet the second she returned to Haven. He remembers how the two held each other and he also remembers how when it first came to light that Evelyn was at the center of the conclave explosion - before she was named the Herald, before she sealed the rifts - Maxwell and Cassandra could be heard bellowing at each other through the closed Chantry doors.

“Yes, unfortunately,” Evelyn says, facing falling as Maxwell draws closer. “Distant cousins, thankfully.”

“We don’t look all that much alike,” Maxwell says, and then hooks a finger in his mouth to raise his lip, “But look, we have the same teeth - show him cousin - _ow_.”

Evelyn smacks Maxwell over the back of the head, “Ignore him, Commander. His mother dropped him on the head as a child - most likely out of disgust and horror over his cone shaped head.”

“ _Evelyn_ ,” Maxwell gasps, hand to his chest, “You know I’m _sensitive_ about that.”

“You were born lacking a distinct sense of _sensitivity_ ,” Evelyn replies, “What do you want?”

“Your company?” Maxwell says, snagging the woman around the shoulders, “So if you’d excuse me, Commander - “

Evelyn elbows Maxwell hard in the ribs.

Cullen watches - “Are you sure you’re cousins? You remind me more of siblings.”

Evelyn shudders and Maxwell laughs.

-

A hand grabs Dorian out of the dark and Dorian is half about to cast a spell, thinking that the Venatori have finally made a move.

Lips catch against his cheek -

“I was told there was to be a duel for Kaaras’ honor,” Mahanon says and Dorian swears, shoving at his chest. “I came here to fight you for the right to duel. Please tell me it’s the one that looks like a pigeon roosted on their head.”

“You complete and total ass, you almost gave me a heart attack.”

Mahanon’s lips catch under Dorian’s chin, “Your pulse is jumping.”

Dorian finds Mahanon’s skin and pinches. Mahanon leans back, eyes glittering in the lantern lights from beyond the trellis.

“Ass,” Dorian repeats, hands settling on Mahanon’s waist, toying with the end of his braid. “Where’s Ellana?”

“Dumped her on Solas. I imagine the two of them are pretending to be stoic and silent and properly _exotic_ in some hallway,” Mahanon shrugs, running a hand over Dorian’s chest, “This isn’t your color. You are quite handsome, Dorian, but I don’t think even _you_ are making this uniform look like anything other than a complete disaster.”

“It’s _no one’s_ color, amatus,” Dorian says, “I still don’t know how you and Ellana got away with wearing something different.”

“Ah, but Ellana embroidered a _cock_ onto the back of my neck,” Mahanon raises a fine eyebrow, “So who’s really the winner here?”

“I’ve always been the winner,” Dorian replies, “Are you and Kaaras in shifts to make sure I don’t get completely drunk and useless?”

“We’re on shifts to make the Commander look like an incredibly interesting man with an interesting sex life,” Mahanon shrugs. Dorian barks out a laugh and Mahanon’s lips curve upwards. “Evelyn’s request.”

“I want to see it,” Dorian says, running his hands up and down Mahanon’s sides - the fine gossamer and silk of Mahanon’s elven inspired tunic runs smoothly underneath Dorian’s palms. He can feel Mahanon breathe, the heat of him, through his gloved palms. “How much do you loathe this place, right now?”

“More than words can express,” Mahanon answers darkly, “You have no idea how many people have tried to subtly ask if we were the Inquisition’s entertainment for the night. What, do they want us to do tricks? And the _smells_.”

“Thank you for coming anyway,” Dorian leans in, gently pressing his forehead to Mahanon’s. “It - it means a lot to have you both here. To all of us.”

“I know,” Mahanon’s eyes slide closed and he catches Dorian’s lip between his, soft and brief. “Besides, I couldn’t miss seeing you in your element, you’re out of it so often.”

“Lies and slander, I am always in my element,” Dorian says as Mahanon presses his lips to the corner of Dorian’s. “Necking in a hidden dark corner with an incredibly beautiful man at a party where everyone wants my blood steaming on the ground? That just happens to be more my element than usual.”


	8. Chapter 8

"Everyone, we have an announcement,” Dorian says.

“Mahanon is leaving you,” Sera says. “Knew he could do better.”

“You’re both leaving Mahanon,” Malika says, and then, “How could you?”

“No,” Kaaras says, “That’s not the announcement. Sera I thought you were on my side.”

“You could probably do better, too,” Sera says, “But listen, chances are you’re going to do worse - no offense.”

Kaaras just stares at her, betrayal on his face. Sera shrugs.

“The announcement?” Edric says, as he attempts to block Ellana from stealing more of his dinner.

(“Stop letting her take your food,” Mahanon says, “You’re spoiling her. She’s already a brat, you’ll just make it worse.”

“That implies that I _can_ stop her,” Edirc says as Ellana snags another slice of carrot from his plate.

“He can definitely stop her,” Malika says from the other table where she’s been discussing field surgery with Stitches and Dalish, “He’s just soft on her because she’s, _y’know_. Her.”)

“Ellana can talk,” Dorian says.

Everyone turns to Ellana, who blows a soft raspberry and twists around to start tugging at Rocky’s shirt at the next table to get him to give in to her.

“Leave him,” Bull says, “He’s got to eat his vegetables to grow up big and strong someday.”

“Fuck you, too, Chief,” Rocky says and Krem turns around to put an apple slice in Ellana’s waiting mouth.

“Stop spoiling her,” Mahanon tries to hit Krem’s hand but the man dodges in time.

“Where does the food even go?” Malika says.

“The announcement?” Kaaras waves a hand in the air. “She talks?”

“Nice try,” Herah says.

“I heard her, _Dorian and I heard her talk_ ,” Kaaras says.

“Alright, what’d she say?”

Kaaras and Dorian make faces, “She said _you’re welcome brother dearest_.”

Everyone turns to look at Mahanon who shrugs.

“Anything else?” Sera asks.

Kaaras and Dorian exchange looks before Kaaras mumbles, “ _No one would ever believe you_.”

Ellana makes a soft honking noise and when they turn to look Krem is dangling a piece of ham just out of her reach.

“Stop teasing her,” Bull says. “I mean, sure, I guess she’s got to work for it, but seriously.”

“Right,” Herah raises an eyebrow, “Sure she said that. And while we’re at it, Malika’s started dreaming, the Seeker and Varric have made peace with each other, and Evelyn’s managed to figure out why the hell bears keep running after her like she’s personally killed all their children in front of them. _Sure_.”

-

“He has good, steady hands,” Cole says and Evelyn frowns at the complete change in conversation. Cole isn’t really focused most of the time, but usually Evelyn can grasp clues as to what he’s talking about. This one is completely and totally out of her understanding, though.

“What?”

“His hands,” Cole says, slowly, as if Evelyn were the one being strange, “You think about them a lot. You think they look steady, capable - they must be, you think, to hold a sword and shield like that for so long every day for so many years. Your templar, his hands must be strong.”

Evelyn feels a punch of heat through her chest at the words. _Your templar_.

(When did those words start to mean a very specific someone in her head?)

“He wants to touch you here, first, mostly, with those hands” Cole says and Evelyn blinks as he slowly reaches out - finger wavering as if he isn’t sure how fingers move - and gently touches the side of her head, just above her ear. “Your hair always slips, here. It’s where he always thinks about touching you most. He can’t help it. Red-brown like the hearth and the fading embers of a good night’s sleep, hands through dependable fur, dogs and horses and everything the steady good salt of the earth.”

Evelyn feels the heat bloom in her chest, “Cole, stop that.”

“But to be the scarf around her neck, whenever she smiles - he would like to be that, too. She makes him feel like a recruit all over again, clumsy and young and punch-stupid with _hope_. To be the scarf around her neck, to always have her smile, the touch of her lips, the warm misting of her breath - how he _envies_.”

The heat blooms over the tips of her ears, her cheeks, “Cole. That’s private.”

“Why?” Cole tilts his head, frowning through his hair, “Everyone knows how much he would want to be your glove to hold your hands and keep them warm. Everyone knows. Why are you trying to hide it? He feels just as warm and happy as you do when I tell him about how you want to be his sword belt - around his waist and always embracing him with the full strength of your entire self.”

“ _Cole!_ ” Evelyn chokes, sputters, shock and horror sparking at the back of her mind.

“He did that, too, when I told him,” Cole says, “But he was happy, blooming with it. Both of your hearts kick like wild things, beautiful things. Spring after so long thinking that you were meant for winter afternoons with gray as far as the eye can think. You should show him how you want to be his sword belt, his coat. The warm touch of morning and the hearth. He would like it.”

-

“ _Lavellan!_ ” The tavern doors burst open and they all look up to see Evelyn, winded and still in her riding gear. Her hair is a mess and her eyes are wild with something as she storms in, voice high, “ _You’re married?_ ”

Mahanon blanches, then immediately goes to run, but Bull and Krem each grab and arm and sit him back down.

At the other table, Ellana moves to bolt, but Herah gets her by the back of the neck, and the woman goes limp and starts whining.

“ _Mahanon_ ,” Dorian and Kaaras intone as Evelyn stands over the sour looking elf, hands on her hips, taking in deep breaths as she visibly works on gathering herself.

“You ran into a Dalish clan in the Dirth,” Mahanon says, “And you said one of our names, didn’t you?”

“Is that why you didn’t want us using your names?” Evelyn says, “ _Because you’re married and didn’t want word getting back to your wife?_ ”

Mahanon cringes.

“When the Keeper heard that you were with us he wanted to know how your wife was,” Evelyn’s voice cracks, “And _if you’ve got her with child yet_.”

Mahanon looks faintly green.

Dorian grasps Kaaras’ hand, and Kaaras holds back just as tightly.

“You-  You’re - You’re mar- _married_?” Kaaras’s voice is soft, fragile - _young_.

“It’s - _complicated_ ,” Mahanon says, sounding pained.

“Who is she?” Dorian asks immediately, “Why didn’t you tell us? _Why didn’t you tell anyone_?”

Mahanon closes his eyes and slowly raises his hand to point. Everyone slowly turns their heads to follow the line of his finger.

Ellana, at the other end of his finger, groans and hits her head against the table.

“ _You’re married to your sister?”_ Evelyn, Herah, Kaaras, Dorian, the Chargers, and everyone else present exclaim. Mahanon cringes.

“She’s my sister by blood, not water of the womb,” Mahanon says, “Look at us - did you honestly think we shared parents?”

“I did wonder about that, I thought maybe you were half - or adopted. So it’s more like me and Herah, then. I mean - _you still didn’t tell us you were married_ , but I think I’m slightly less - _everything_ \- over this knowing there isn’t any actual incest,” Kaaras says and Herah gasps.

“Who told you?” Herah raises the hand not holding Ellana in place to her chest, “We weren’t going to tell you until you were old enough.”

Kaaras glares at her, “ _Herah_.”

“The clan elders arranged it,” Mahanon says, turning to Dorian and Kaaras, sounding incredibly sour, “We were against it from the start. It was arranged when I was seventeen and we were officially matched by the time I was nineteen. We petitioned to have it voided at the Arlathvhen but the elders there said to wait because _maybe we’d change our minds_.” Mahanon’s voice takes a mocking tone and he leans around them to glare at Ellana, “I’ve been stuck with you for over thirty years, _nothing_ is going to change my mind about how much I don’t want to be married to you.”

Ellana pantomimes hanging herself in response, complete with crossed eyes and tongue sticking out.

“You’re married to your sister, a mage woman, in a completely loveless marriage that your parents arranged for you,” Dorian says, “Maker - it’s like looking at my own life through someone else’s eyes. I - _I can’t believe you didn’t tell anyone_. I want to _strangle you_ with your own hair right now.”

“You’re _married_ ,” Kaaras repeats. “To your _sister_.”

“I wouldn’t say completely loveless,” Mahanon says, “I love her, she’s my _sister_. But I don’t want to have children with her or anything of the sort.”

“Alright, fair, but - _I can’t believe you never said anything_.” Herah says, “I thought we were _friends_.”

“It isn’t important!”

“ _It isn’t important?”_ Evelyn repeats, “ _You’re married to your sister!_ ”

Mahanon throws up his arms, “I don’t want to be! And she’s my sister of choice, not my sister of birth! The next Arlathvhen is coming up soon, we were going to petition again then. I didn’t say anything because neither of us recognize it as a valid union, _no one does_ \- everyone is just waiting for us to give in and well - _give in_ , but we won’t. We never will. I didn’t say anything to you because it isn’t - it isn’t _real_. I want _you_ , Kaaras. I want _you_ , Dorian.” Mahanon’s dark eyes soften, liquify, gleam.”Know that - please. Just know that.”


	9. Chapter 9

The wind over the parapets has a presence, Kaaras thinks. It’s not quite loud, except for when it is, and it fills his ears. It’s a physical thing, the wind. And it’s almost like it’s laughing at him. At Kaaras.

He can’t help but look at the way the wind blows Mahanon’s loose tunic into his chest, outlining his frame as he pulls dry and scraggily plants out of the cracks between stones. Kaaras focuses his eyes on the stone in front of him, tries to think about the sounds of everyone around them. Everyone, thankfully, alive and well. Even Evelyn.

Especially Evelyn.

Kaaras digs his teeth into his lower lip as he gathers piles of leaves, sorting out the stone and dirt so that he can throw the dried vegetation over the side of the castle’s walls. He glances back at Mahanon, and strands of pale hair have escaped his braid, sticking to his neck and sliding into his face. Mahanon’s long fingers curl around and pull weeds and stubborn roots out of the stone with sharp, decisive movements.

“You’ve been staring,” Mahanon says, and Kaaras blinks, jerking his gaze forward again.

“S- so- sorry,” Kaaras pushes the word out, purple blush prickling at the back of his neck. Mahanon is _nice_ to him. Or at least, Kaaras thinks so. He thinks that Mahanon likes him - he seems to act differently around him compared to everyone else. Somehow Mahanon seems more - sharp? Open? But maybe he’s got it backwards. Maybe Mahanon treats him differently because he doesn’t like him, maybe -

“Only be sorry if you aren't going to do anything about it,” Mahanon says just as the wind picks up. Kaaras startles, looking up and Mahanon looks back at him with a soft pink edge to his smile as he moves closer, the wind pushing Mahanon’s tunic and hair to the side.

Mahanon tilts his head, so close that Kaaras can see the faint splotches of freckles on his tanned skin.

“Are you?” Mahanon asks, voice low underneath the laughing wind.

Kaaras swallows, and Mahanon raises a pale, fine, brow.

It’s just that Mahanon is so _beautiful_ , Kaaras thinks as he scrambles to come up with some answer. He isn’t sorry - not exactly, but he is, too, because - well. Mahanon is _beautiful_. Kaaras finds he’s surrounded in absurdly beautiful people and Kaaras is just - _Kaaras_.

Mahanon slowly begins to move back, mouth starting to even out into something neutral, something more disinterested, something farther away and Kaaras swallows hard -

“I’m not sorry,” Kaaras says, moving in to close the distance between them as Mahanon’s eyes widen in surprise, and his teeth slowly appear in one of those beautiful smiles that threatens to knock Kaaras on his ass. “And I - I- I will do some-something about it.”

Kaaras raises a hand - Mahanon’s skin is so _smooth_ and _hot_ \- to the back of Mahanon’s neck and draws him close. Kaaras’ experience in the field of romance is close to nothing, but he thinks he does a fair job of not mucking up his first kiss with Mahanon.

Mahanon laughs, like wind, against Kaaras’ mouth as he raises a hand to Kaaras’ face - warm and certain.

“Good,” Mahanon says against Kaaras’ lips, “I was starting to get worried.”

-

Kaaras looks up, surprised when he sees Athlok standing in front of him.

“Saarebas,” Athlok says, and Kaaras glances down to where Athlok's eyes are focused and then -

“Leave her alone, Athlok,” Kaaras says, lowering his knitting needles, stretching out his leg to try and block Athlok from Ellana who looks between them, placid and unfazed as a still pool, Kaaras’ yarn around her hands.

Athlok is not a bad person. Kaaras doesn’t think Athlok would actually _hurt_ Ellana. After all - Athlok is the one who helped Kaaras’ parents escape the Qun; Athlok also raised Herah. But Athlok is strongly attached to the Qun. There are some opinions he has that have not been changed by leaving it.

“Saarebas,” Athlok repeats and Ellana slowly turns her gaze to him. Athlok kneels so he’s closer to eye level with her. “The Ben-Hassrath will lie to you.”

“ _Athlok_ ,” Kaaras raises a hand between them, but Athlok catches it and firmly holds it out of his way. Ellana stares back at him, nonplussed.

“He will give you a word,” Athlok says, “He will say it means _the heart_. He is lying. It is not a term of what these lands call _romance_. There is no _romance_ involved. It means _the center_. It is not a single person, it is not permanent, it is not binding. It is not a promise. He has had before you, he has aside from you, he will have after you. You are not unique. You are not singular. Do you understand, saarebas?””

“Leave her be, that’s none of your business,” Kaaras snaps, startles when he feels Ellana dig her elbow into his calf. He looks at her and she leans forward towards Athlok.

It is the third time he has heard her speak, and Kaaras knew she could, but her voice still surprises him. Her voice is deep, low, steady.

“Does the value of a star decrease when it enters a constellation? When it leaves? Is it any lesser for not existing in isolation?” She asks, calm, unshakeable.

Athlok nods, once, “Correct.”

Athlok turns to look at him, “This bas has the ability to be Basalit-an. Learn from her.”

He reaches out and rests his hand on Ellana’s head for a moment, before slowly rising to his feet and walking away.

Kaaras stares after him, and then back at Ellana. Ellana looks back at him, then slowly sticks out the tip of her tongue.

“I am never going to understand you,” Kaaras says.

Ellana touches the tip of her tongue to her upper lip.

Kaaras slowly turns back to his knitting. Moments later -

“No one would _still_ believe you if you told them,” Ellana says and Kaaras’ head jerks back up and Ellana bleats.

“You’re the reason why Mahanon’s hair is so pale, isn’t it?” Kaaras says. Ellana honks in response. “He’s right, _you are annoying_.”

-

“So, if I were to join the Red Jennies, would I get some sort of badge? Identification?” Malika asks, leaning on her elbows as Sera raises an eyebrow.

“The point of being a Jenny is that you’re _everyone_ , we don’t have _badges_ ,” Sera says.

“Okay, but secret handshake? Special home-brew recipe?”

“I dunno, how am I supposed to know that? Maybe?” Sera shrugs.

“Are you literally approaching _everyone_ and asking to be recruited?” Maxwell walks up to them, sitting next to Malika with his bowl of gray and bubbling mush. “Did you know she was asking Herah if the Valo-kas were recruiting and if they were willing to subcontract her?”

“Do they recruit non-Qunari?” Sera asks.

“There’s _always_ a first for something,” Malika replies.

“She tried to steal my house seal,” Maxwell says, “I lent you my _bird_ not my entire _existence_ you little cheat.”

“Should’ve been more specific, then,” Malika shrugs as Sera laughs.

“I like _you_ ,” Sera says, “You’re good.”

“And I’m not?”

“Thinking on it,” Sera says, and then, “You could be worse. For a noble.”

“It probably helps that my noble relations wish I weren’t actually one of their noble relations,” Maxwell muses. “By the way, speaking of relations. Malika, your uncle is coming over and he looks like he’s about to die. Is that something we ought to be worried about? By we I mean _you_.”

“That’s just how he looks,” Malika shrugs. “What’s wrong now, Uncle Edric? I’m networking.”

“You gave the Ambassador the entire wagon your mother sent,” Edric says, “Your mother will actually take my head clean off my shoulders.”

“She wouldn’t do that, she’d break your knees first. You know Mom likes to work her way up,” Malika says. “Besides, it’s _my_ wagon, she sent it for _me._ She never said what I had to do with it.”

Edric groans.

“What are you talking about? What wagon?” Sera asks. Malika shrugs.

“My Mom worries. She sent over, like, my entire wardrobe? Who does that? Who even needs that many petticoats? Who _wears_ that many petticoats? I just grabbed some fresh underclothes, a few things I thought I’d miss, and then I gave the rest to Josephine to sell or something. I figure someone could use it that isn’t me.”

“You’re _very good_ ,” Sera says, “If the Red Jennies _did_ have some sort of secret handshake or shit, I would totally share it with you right now.”

“Impressive,” Maxwell says, “I like the way you think, Malika.”

Edric groans. “I’m _dead_.”


	10. Chapter 10

"Perfect, this is it. Alright guys, let’s make some magic happen. Literally and figuratively,” Malika says, stopping next to a section of rocks close past the river.

Herah turns, calling out in the vague direction they last saw Ellana, “We’re stopping here.”

“So what’s special about this place?”

“Tiny magic caves,” Malika says.

Maxwell turns to Herah, “Did you hear that? Tiny magic caves. Did I get hit in the head too hard in that last brawl?”

Herah stares at Malika, “Tiny. Magic. _Caves_? You had us come all the way out here _for tiny magic caves_? What does that even _mean_?”

“I heard a rumor,” Malika says, crouching down in front of what is, indeed, a tiny looking cave. It sort of looks like a shrine or something. Maxwell isn’t sure if it’s magic or not, the only one here who would really know that is Ellana. And as always, Ellana is perfectly useless in all matters that require actual words being communicated in verbal form.

Maxwell turns as he hears splashing, and Ellana kicks her way through the water onto the bank, swinging her arms, oblivious to Herah and Maxwell’s current bafflement and incredulity towards Malika and her fondness for rumor and superstition.

“I heard a rumor that if you jump on this cave you will hear a magic voice,” Malika says. “Maxwell, start jumping.”

“What?” Maxwell turns and stares at her, “ _Me_? Why _me? I didn’t volunteer for this.”_

“I can’t do it because I have to observe to record the results,” Malika says, “And I get motion sick. Fine. Herah?”

“Um, _no_ ,” Herah says, eyebrows raising, “Not to bring up the giant in the room, but I am an actual giant woman. With horns. I don’t think I could get on the tiny cave if I stood on the tips of my toes, let alone _jump_ on it. I might bring the whole thing down.”

“Point,” Malika says, “So it’s _you_ , Maxwell.”

Ellana raises her hand and starts walking towards the tiny cave. Maxwell and Herah reach out to grab her arms at the same time Malika throws herself into Ellana’s path.

“No offense, Pearl,” Malika says as Ellana blinks at them, “But you have a weird and uncanny ability to be _really, really, really, impossibly_ heavy for someone of your size.”

Ellana frowns and shakes her head, then raises her arms.

“Herah?” Maxwell says and Herah sighs, putting her hands on Ellana’s waist and lifting her.

Everyone’s eyebrows shoot up as Ellana hoots.

“Alright, someday you’re going to explain how you do that,” Herah says, setting Ellana back. “Okay, go for it. Start jumping, I guess.”

Ellana moves and takes her place on the rock.

“I can’t believe we left Skyhold, came all the way here, all of it for a rumor,” Maxwell says as Ellana begins to jump while Malika counts.

“Listen, Trevelyan, I will take an assignment in the graves any day over being sent out to the fucking Wastes,” Herah says, “Did you _see_ Edric’s face the last time he came back from assignment? That man is one bad day away from bursting into full on _tears_. Tears, Trevelyan. _Tears_.”

“Point taken,” Maxwell says as Malika’s count gets towards forty and then suddenly a echoing voice begins to murmur furiously from the cave.

Ellana yelps and jumps off the cave, scrambling up the rocks and hissing.

“ _It talks?_ ” Maxwell and Herah exclaims as Malika shushes them, diving to her hands and knees to bring her ear closer to the crevice. “Maker’s fucking _left ass cheek_.”

Ellana jumps from the rocks into Herah’s arms, wide eyed, as Malika turns to them -

“Did you hear that? _It talked!_ It works! Guys - _we have to do what it says_. We need to find out what happens next. This is so exciting! What if there are more of these things?”

“Um. _No,_ we don’t,” Maxwell says, “It could be demons. In case you haven’t noticed, the sky is practically spitting them out by the hour. Plenty of those. We are not going to listen to strange voices we hear from caves. No. _No_. I’m a templar drop-out, but I’m not actually _stupid_.”

“It could be a good spirit! Like Cole! Herah, come _on_. Not you too.”

Herah shakes her head, letting Ellana down; she crawls on the ground to stare into the tiny cave.

“Nope, not doing it. I’m with Maxwell.”

“Ellana?”

Ellana gives a thumbs up over her shoulder as she shoves her face at the cave. Herah and Maxwell groan, Maxwell hits his head against his fist. Herah throws her arms into the air before going to pull Ellana back before she loses her face to cave demons.

“Ellana is with me, and she’s the resident mage,” Malika says grinning, “We’re doing what the mysterious voice from the tiny cave says.”

“I’m going back to camp,” Maxwell says, “And then I’m going to write my cousin about how you’re about to lead us all to our doom because you want to listen to what’s probably a demon in a rock.”

-

“I’m too old for this,” Edric groans, yanking his knife out of the crystalized body of a Red Templar.

“You’re only as old as you feel,” Herah replies, slamming her bow into a templar’s face before dropping it in favor of drawing her own daggers, “I mean look at Bull. By all rights he should be retired by now, but he’s still going.”

“Don’t be an asshole,” The Iron Bull says, swinging his sword to clear room for Dalish to slide in and toss lightning. “I’m not that old.”

“Whatever lets you sleep at night, old man,” Herah replies.

“ _You’re not that much younger than me.”_

 _“_ The privilege of the young is to call their elders old,” Herah recites.

Kaaras and Dalish both cast barriers at the same time, and Kaaras winces, “Sorry!”

“It’s alright! Bound to happen when you aren’t used to working with other mages,” Krem says, swinging his maul with a satisfying _crunch_ into the closest templar’s arm.

“What mage?” Dalish asks, “I’m an _archer_ , I keep telling you.”

“A glowing archer,” Edric snorts before slipping back and behind Herah and Bull to regroup.

“Less talking,” An arrow barely manages to miss Dalish, who yelps and swears at Mahanon, “More fighting. Do you always talk this much when you fight?”

“It’s called _banter_ and it’s stress relieving,” Herah replies, “You can’t be this sour _all_ the time _.”_

Mahanon appears close to Dalish’s side and throws out some knives, “Oh, _yes_ I can. I really can. You’ve _met_ my sister, right?”

“She can’t be that bad,” Edric says, re-entering the fray to slice at a templar’s calves, bringing the templar to a stumbling halt in time for Dalish to give him a solid _whack_ across the face with her _bow_. “She’s just - eccentric.”

“Say that after you’ve lived with her for your entire life,” Mahanon snorts.

“Trust me, you don’t know anything about terrible sister until you’ve met _my_ sister,” Edric replies, crouching down to let Herah knock a templar over his back. “What is it with sisters being terrifying and stressful, anyway?”

“It’s what sisters do, it’s part of our job description,” Herah says, “What’s with brothers being such babies?”


	11. Chapter 11

“ _Don't touch her!_ ”

Evelyn startles, turning as someone rushes between her and the Seeker. Evelyn’s leg throbs with pain from where she landed, and magic threatens to bloom at her fingers - the bones of her hand ache and her heart races in her chest.

She stares up at the back in front of her - and it can’t be. It’s not possible. What would the chances be of that? Evelyn’s worst subject has always been mathematics, but it wouldn’t take a particularly good student to know that it _can’t be -_

“Trevelyan,” The Seeker says, eyes narrowing, “She is a mage. She is dangerous.”

“Evelyn is only dangerous to the people who are dangerous to her first,” Maxwell says, “Don’t aim your sword at my cousin.”

“We’ve been through this Trevelyan, we cannot be sure of her innocence,” The Seeker says and Maxwell spreads his arms, stepping closer to Evelyn.

“You can’t, _I can,”_ He turns and Evelyn can’t believe it. It’s _really Maxwell_. Evelyn can’t help but stare. He holds out his hand to her, brows furrowed, “Evelyn, are you okay? Did she attack you? Evelyn?”

“Maxwell?” Evelyn takes his hand, he pulls her up, taking her by the shoulders and looking at her before nodding.

“It’s been a very long time, cousin,” Maxwell says, squeezing her shoulders, “I wish our long awaited reunion didn’t involve false accusations of murder and such, but you have always been one for drama.”

“I am _not_ ,” Evelyn says on reflex and Maxwell flashes a smile before bending down and picking up the staff Evelyn had dropped when the Seeker turned on her. He puts it in her hands, squeezing again once, before turning towards the Seeker.

“I’m going with you,” Maxwell says, “Lead on.”

The Seeker looks between them, then shakes her head and turns around to continue leading the way through the mountains.

Evelyn follows after the two of them, confusion and anxiety gnawing at her chest. She reaches out, partially habit-half-forgotten and need. She curls her fingers into the back of Maxwell’s coat.

“Maxwell,” Evelyn whispers, keeping her voice low, “I don’t remember what happened. But I don’t think I did this.”

“Of course you didn’t,” Maxwell says, “You’re innocent.”

“But I don’t _remember_ , Maxwell. What if I _did_ do this?”

“But you didn’t, so that isn’t a problem,” Maxwell replies.

“But you don’t know that. _I don’t know that_.”

“I do know it,” Maxwell says, firmly, “Because you are my cousin, Evelyn. I know you. You aren’t the most devout Andrastian in Thedas, Maker knows, but _you didn’t kill the Divine_.”

“You don’t know that. It’s been over twenty years since we last saw each other, Maxwell. People change.”

“But we wrote to each other almost every month - sometimes every _week_ \- for those twenty years, Evelyn,” Maxwell falls back a step and takes her hand in his. “You are my cousin, Lyn. I know you. _You didn’t do this_. You may be a mage and you may have a wicked temper but _you did not blow up the Conclave_. I refuse to believe it.”

“But how can we _know_ for sure?” Evelyn whispers, “Maxwell - we don’t know what happened. No one does.”

“I don’t care,” Evelyn recognizes the stubborn set of his jaw, the one that always had their older relatives groaning in exasperation and sending for a switch, “You’re innocent. I’ll yell it into the face of the Empress of Orlais, the Prince of Starkhaven, the King of Ferelden - whoever I have to go before. _You are innocent Evelyn Trevelyan_ , don’t you dare start doubting yourself now. Andraste’s Flaming Sword - you aren’t that kind of woman, Evelyn. Don’t start giving in to the masses now.”

-

“This is a waste of our resources,” Leliana says, waving a hand towards the closed door of the war room. “Now that we’re finally on our feet, now that we have our directives and our paths set before us, we can finally begin to think of actually structuring ourselves properly.”

“I’m not saying that you’re wrong,” Cullen replies, “But this is still something we can’t do without asking first. These people are here for their own free will. They aren’t soldiers or recruits, they aren’t hired on the same way.”

“Commander Cullen is right, we cannot just give them tasks like we did at Haven,” Josephine says, setting down her writing board and pen, “I agree with you that we can now start to streamline our resources, start fine tuning them and adjusting them for better results, but these people are _not_ resources. We cannot demand anything from them when what they have already given has been of their own free will and without request.”

“So you’re saying we should waste them?” Leliana replies, “Herah and Malika are both good fighters, and I’m not saying we should stop them from going out with the troops altogether, but look at them. Herah Adaar is one of the best people we have on the ground; when she talks people listen. People even agree. She represents another side of the Thedas we are trying to unite - if anything she’s something new that people would at least give a thought to listening to. And Malika, too. She’s amazing at networking, at getting to understand and know people - not just bartering for goods and swinging that axe of hers. And Mahanon - he’s a Dalish hunter. Do you know how good they have to be? We have him - what? Fetching braces of rabbit and skinning rams? Imagine what we could have him doing. Imagine how quickly he could navigate the terrain, get in and out of places unseen. We have to consider all the ways their talents could be better used.”

“I agree with you,” Cullen says, “I do. But _they aren’t Inquisition_ in the same way our soldiers or scouts or messengers are. We can order them, we can reassign them, we can punish them and promote them. They _are signed on_. Their names are on paper. We cannot, in fair conscience, demand these things of Adaar and Cadash and Lavellan.”

“Let us talk to them first,” Josephine says, “Just - let us _ask_ them. They’ve been thrown into this whole mess without any real option to say no. Let us give them one now, while there is still a chance for them to say otherwise.”

“What you offer, Josephine, is the illusion of choice,” Leliana rolls her eyes, “We all know that they would say yes. The current situation is no longer about choice. It is about _do or do not_. And the people we are talking about are not the sort to stand by idle.”


	12. Chapter 12

“There’s a strange Qunari man at the gates of Haven - I don’t recognize him as being one of the original mercenaries Leliana hired. But he refuses to speak to anyone aside from saying he wants to come inside the gates. Should we trust him?” Josephine says to Lieutenant Adaar. The woman tilts her head, frowning.

“Then he can’t be one of the ones you helped negotiate the release for,” Adaar says, crossing her arms as she thinks, “Must be one of the other members of the Valo-Kas. But I didn’t get word of any of the other members coming to join up with me and Kaaras here. What did he look like?”

“The messenger said that he has one broken horn and a scar over his left eye,” Josephine says, “Does that ring any bells? Lieutenant?”

At at the words _one broken horn_ , Adaar’s eyes had widened, and by the time Josephine had said _a scar over his left eye_ , Adaar had turned and started running out of Josephine’s office, out of the Chantry.

Josephine gets up, exchanging a look of confusion with Minaeve before going to follow. Is this man a danger? A threat? Is that why Adaar was running?

As Josephine leaves the Chantry she sees Kaaras Adaar running towards her -

“Is it true?” Kaaras says, coming to a halt in front of her, “He’s here?”

“There is a Qunari man here, but I do not know who he is,” Josephine says, “Who is _he_ supposed to be?”

“ _Athlok_ ,” Kaaras says with a curious sort of joy and hesitation in his voice as he turns towards Haven’s gates, “I just heard from Edric now - does Herah know?”

“I do not know if this Qunari is the same as your Athlok, but yes, I just asked her about it now - Kaaras? Who is this Athlok?”

“Come see,” Kaaras says, gesturing for her to follow before he starts to briskly walk towards Haven’s entrance. Josephine has to jog a little to keep up with his brisk strides. “He’s a reserve member of the Valo-Kas. He’s a good man, if a little - well. Qun. Don’t get me wrong, he _is_ Tal-Vashoth, but he’s one of the ones that still acts like he’s in the Qun.”

They reach Haven’s gates and Herah is standing on front of the Qunari man - true to the reports, he’s missing over half of his left horn in a uneven looking break, and his left eye is milky from the rough looking scar that goes over it and up into his hairline.

He has his hands on Herah’s shoulders and the two of them are talking quietly in Qunlat.

The man turns towards them as they slowly approach and he gives Kaaras a once over, lowering his hands from Herah’s shoulders to beckon Kaaras closer.

“Athlok,” Kaaras says, smiling a little, “Did you travel well?”

“Taashath-Imekari,” Athlok replies, his voice is deep and even. He doesn’t sound like any of the other Valo-Kas mercenaries. They were all rowdier, more colorful. Josephine immediately understand what Kaaras meant by him being _Qun._ “You remain.”

“Yes, Athlok, I’m still me,” Kaaras pats Athlok’s hands on his shoulders. “Did Mother send you?”

Athlok tilts his head, “No.”

He turns towards Herah, hands patting Kaaras’ shoulders before lowering, “Venak hol, you did not return to Shokrakar.”

“I thought we’d stay here, Athlok,” Lieutenant Adaar says, “I mean, we’re _already here_ might as well do some good.”

Athlok nods once and turns towards Josephine.

“And this bas?”

“This is Josephine Montileyet, Ambassador of the Inquisition,” Lieutenant Adaar says, soft smile on her face, “Josephine, this is Athlok. He’s my mentor and my guardian. He’s a reserve member of the Valo-Kas.”

“Ambassador,” Athlok nods.

“Athlok, it is a surprise and a pleasure to meet your acquaintance,” Josephine replies, cautiously bowing her head a little. “I apologize for being so direct, but should we be expecting more of the Valo-Kas to arrive? I ought to inform the Commander so accommodations can be made.”

Athlok says something in Qunlat to the Lieutenant who nods and answers Josephine, “He came on his own. Shokrakar would be the one to let us know if more of the Valo-Kas are coming. Aside from us and the ones who are still recovering from being, uh, _hosted_ by the neighboring nobles, I don’t think Shokrakar will be sending any more. Athlok will stay with me and Kaaras. We’ll vouch for him; he won’t try to convert anyone or go on a rampage.” Lieutenant Adaar winks, “Though he might go to interrupt sparring practice between the recruits if he sees someone being especially hapless and incompetent.”

-

“I have a name and it is Mahanon,” The man cocks his head, “A nickname?”

“Yes, so you don’t become compromised in the field,” Leliana replies, “All of my agents use them.”

Lavellan hums, “An example?”

“A lot of our field agents choose trades. There’s Charter, for example, and Painter and Cooper,” Leliana says, “You could choose _Hunter_ or _Ranger_ if you like.”

“Dalish is taken,” Mahanon says, “Would Raven be too obvious?”

Leliana laughs, “Just a little.”

Mahanon pulls his braid over his shoulder and twists it around his hand, thinking, “And by taking this name I become one of your agents?”

“Yes,” Leliana confirms, “Of course I don’t expect you to behave like a bard or a saboteur. You would be gathering information on the land, infiltrating enemy camps and other such things.” Leliana gestures in the direction of the war table, “You know of the operations Josephine, Cullen, and I oversee with the Inquisitor’s direction.”

“Escorts across the Dales, negotiations of trade with nobles, reinforcements and guarding of roads,” Mahanon nods, “I am familiar. You would be sending me to the Dirth?”

“The Dirth, the Wastes, the Hinterlands, wherever your talents would be best used,” Leliana says, “Unless you prefer to be hunting and foraging for food. Do not get me wrong, Lavellan. What you did in Haven fed many people, but that is not something we have to worry about any longer. All of Thedas looks towards us as something legitimate, something growing. We appreciate what you have done to help keep us alive, but now a new sort of purpose presents itself.”

“One can always use more arrow heads and shafts,” Mahanon says, “But after a while, one begins to want for the weight of a dagger’s handle. Very well. I am Ghilan. It is done. Where do you want my blades and arrows, spymaster?”

-

“Could your sister be persuaded to assist in the assault of Adamant?” Cullen asks, “I don’t mean to push, but we could use another mage on the ground. Barriers and healing and such.”

“That is not my sister’s focus of study and she would be quite poor at it,” Mahanon replies, handing Leliana some reports, “Ellana may choose to come with us, but she will not fight.”

“A pacifist?” Leliana tilts her head, “She doesn’t seem the type, to be honest.”

“No,” Mahanon answers, “But she will not fight.”

“Is she unable to?” Cullen frowns, “Is her magic weak? There are some mages who are incapable of doing much more than lighting a candle, no matter how hard they train or try.”

“She is capable,” Mahanon says, “But I will not permit her to fight.”

Leliana raises her eyebrows, “ _Permit_ her. I did not think your sister actually listened to people, nor was I under the impression that you were that much in charge of her and her actions.”

“My sister does not often listen, but in this she does,” Mahanon says, “My sister’s magic is not fire or lighting, it is not something as immediate and effortless as ice or barriers or moving the earth. It is not her way. She can fight. She has fought. But the repercussions of her choices leave wounds and damage that take time to heal. The woman you see my sister as is not the sister I grew up with; she is new, she is recent, and she is _not_ the truth. Ellana will most likely follow us to Adamant - this I cannot stop. But she will not fight. Excuse me, there are more reports for me to bring.”


	13. Chapter 13

"Listen, Trevelyan, I don't care how important your hand is to the state of the world; the next time you send me to a fucking _bog_ I’m going to beat you with it,” Adaar says, wiping a hand across her face and smearing off some mud. “That being said, I brought you a present and you can’t return it because your cousin and Cadash got attached to it.”

“Thanks?” Evelyn says, and before Evelyn can ask what it is she starts to gag - “What is that _smell_?”

“Your present,” Adaar deadpans.

“ _Evelyn_ , please, I’m your favorite cousin,” Maxwell says, holding onto the reigns of what looks like some sort of - Evelyn isn’t sure. A four legged animal of the equine variety with a _sword_ sticking out through its head. “Please, _please_ convince the Inquisition leaders to let me have it. _Please_ , I’ll never ask for anything again in my _life_.”

“The last letter you sent me while you were away you asked me if I would give you half my breakfast rolls for a week,” Evelyn points out.

“Aside from that, _never again!_ ”

“Don’t give in to nepotism, Herald,” Cadash says, holding onto the other side of the reigns, “I’ve always wanted a pony. _Please_.”

“What would you even do with a horse, Malika? _You can’t get on one_ ,” Maxwell says and Cadash scoffs.

“Well - aren’t you a noble? Can’t you just _buy_ your own horse?”

“Oh, Malika, you know that’s not how it works. That would imply that someone actually _acknowledges_ me as their child and that isn’t happening anytime this age.”

“Well - act like one and maybe they will! What about chivalry? Women and the younger ones before you!”

“The world _chivalry_ implies ownership of a horse, which _I do not have_ ,” Maxwell returns before turning back to Evelyn, “ _Please._ ”

“What _is that_?” Evelyn gapes, “And did a fly just - _fly_ out of its _eye socket_?”

“It’s part of its charm,” Cadash and Maxwell say.

“It’s a _bog unicorn_ ,” Adaar answers sounding entirely too pleased with the situation. “Named by Malika and Maxwell for the fact that we fished it - _fished it, Trevelyan, fished it_ \- out of a bog and it has a sword that looks a lot like a horn. Seriously. If you ever suggest to the Inquisition heads that I go to any sort of swamp, bog, mire, or other place _again_ there will be _repercussions_. Do you understand me, Trevelyan? _Repercussions.”_

 _“_ Maybe we should, er, let the bog unicorn decide,” Evelyn says, “I’ve read that quite often the - uh. Horse. The horse chooses its rider. Right. I’m going to go report this back to Josephine and ask if someone can spare some soap to get you a bath. Baths. I think you might need more than one.”

-

“For fuck's sake - we don’t have time for - _Ellana how did you get here_?” Herah grabs Ellana’s arm and snarls under her breath when she finds that Ellana is in one of those strange _moments_ \- for the lack of a better word - when she weights at least a ton or more and refuses to be moved. “Fucking - Ellana this isn’t the time for you to be stubborn and unreasonable. Shit, shit, _shit_.”

Herah moves to block Ellana from being hit by an arrow but Ellana’s hand suddenly flies up and snatches the arrow, breaking the shaft.

Ellana snarls, a feral sound that raises the hair on the back of Herah’s neck, and pulls her arm out of Herah’s grasp.

She has heard Ellana snarl and make all sorts of noises before, but not like that one.

Ellana proceeds to stomp forward, through the fighting, and raises her arm and _throws_ a warden that gets too close to her across the fortress floor.

Herah follows after her.

“I don’t have enough curse words for this,” Herah says, adjusting her grip on her daggers as she does her level best to keep Ellana safe.

“What the hell is this?” Herah turns and Blackwall has his shield raised over Ellana, Herah breathes a sigh of relief.

“I don’t know, I turned around and she was _there.”_

 _“Girl this isn’t the time for you to be you,_ ” Blackwall yells and Ellana rolls her shoulders, muscles flexing as she continues to stalk through the fortress - seemingly oblivious to the fighting around her. “Where’s her brother?”

“Ramparts,” Herah answers and yells as Ellana flings herself onto a wall and _starts to climb up_. “ _Ellana!_ Get back down here! How the fuck is she even doing that?”

“Back,” Blackwall bellows, knocking into Herah in time to save her from getting an arrow to the face. “We can’t worry about her now, we’re up to our necks in Wardens and demons. She’s strange - one of ours will get to her eventually. _Move_ Adaar.”

-

“Dennet? Are you in? I’m going to be taking out the Hang-Tooth - “

“Might want to run that by the little miss first, Inquisitor,” Dennet replies, head sticking out of the Courser’s stall. “She may have a better suggestion.”

Evelyn’s eyebrows raise, “I didn’t realize that you didn’t have the run of the stables anymore, Master Dennet. The little miss?”

Dennet’s arm sticks out and points in the direction of the hay stacks.

Evelyn’s eyebrows raise higher. “Is this where you’ve been hiding, Ellana?”

Ellana’s leg lazily kicks off of the pile of hay as she hums to herself, braiding together some grass and flowers. Evelyn smiles walking towards her. Ellana hums, hair spread out behind her.

“I thought you avoided this place since Blackwall took up here,” Evelyn says, “Or is this because he’s out right now?”

Ellana smiles.

“May I use the Hang-Tooth?” Evelyn asks.

Ellana frowns. Evelyn blinks. Ellana shakes her head.

“No?”

Ellana sits up and slides off the haystack, waving a hand for Evelyn to follow. Evelyn follows, more out of surprise than anything.

Ignoring the fact that she’s been made Inquisitor - Evelyn figures it doesn’t really mean much. - and that Ellana is her friend - or at least, Evelyn likes to think so - she didn’t really expect to be denied the use of her own mount.

Ellana stops in front of the stall with the Green Dales Feral and pats the door. The horse comes over, nosing at Ellana’s cheek before turning to look at Evelyn.

“Uh. This one?” Evelyn points at the Feral, who starts to lip at her finger, gently.

Ellana nods, reaching into the feed bucket and taking a bite of an apple.

“So - not the Hang-Tooth. I’m going to the Approach, you know,” Evelyn says, stroking the Feral’s nose.

Ellana shakes her head, then holds out the apple to the next stall over. The Imperial Warmblood reaches out and takes the apple from her fingers.

“Alright,” Evelyn says, “I trust you. I’m hoping that you have a reason, and I wish you’d tell me.” Evelyn pauses here. Ellana remains perfectly mum. “But I trust you anyway. The Green Dales Feral it is, then. Would you like to go for a ride, Dalia? It will be rather hot, but I suspect that you’ll quite enjoy the trip there. Everyone does until they get to the sand.”

Ellana hums, pleased, then goes to climb over the stall wall of the Tirashan Swiftwind.


	14. Chapter 14

“She’s quite in her element, isn’t she? It’s always incredibly relaxing and inspiring to watch someone in their element,” Josephine looks up, surprised as Enchanter Vivienne takes her place next to her, arms folded behind her back as they stand - watching movers bustling up and down the stairs to Skyhold’s main hall.

The work being put into renovating and making things not just livable and defendable but also appropriate for their cause is never ending. Josephine is fond of decorating and such, but this much at all time from all angles coupled with organizing everything else has left her reeling and hoping to never see another pricing list for stone or fabric in her life.

“Yes,” Josephine says, turning back to watch Adaar as she pushes a scout and a soldier apart, arms around each of their shoulders as she forcefully steers them around, genial smile on her face as she talks them down from whatever inevitable fight was about to happen.

Stress is high; and while opportunities and fortunes seem to be turning, there is something to be said for all the things that have been placed upon their people’s shoulders and around their necks.

“There is something beautiful about people doing what comes naturally to them,” Vivienne says, “One cannot be help but drawn to it, attracted to it.”

“Herah is an incredibly capable woman,” Josephine agrees, “She could lead her own squadron, or mercenary band, if she wished. I think many people would follow her quite happily.”

“She is not for you,” Vivienne says and Josephine jolts, turning to look at her. Vivienne continues to look over Skyhold’s courtyards - each section and level slowly being shaped and formed into suggestions of what their futures may be. “I do not say it to be offensive, Ambassador. But you know as well as I that you are not for each other. She has no title, no name, nothing behind her. You have your entire family. You are not equals.”

“Everyone is equal,” Josephine replies even though she knows it isn’t true.

Vivienne laughs, shaking her head, before giving Josephine a briefly soft and sympathetic look, “It would be one thing if she could somehow promote herself to be somewhat near your station. But she is Qunari, darling. She will never reach nobility. Her only chance is title within some army, and unfortunate as it is - the Inquisition, no matter how large it grows, will never reach that kind of weight for its soldiers in our lifetimes. Commander, Ambassador, Spymaster, Inquisitor - respectable titles all of them. But there can only be one. And I don’t see the ever dutiful Commander Cullen - and his entire line of successors - stepping down.”

“I do not know what you are referring to, Madame de Fer,” Josephine says, uncomfortable prickling and embarrassment creeping over the back of her shoulders, made ever more present with the cold of the mountain wind. “Lieutenant Adaar and I are friends.”

“Let her down easily but quickly, Ambassador,” Vivienne says, beginning to descend the stairs, waving her hand at some finely dressed merchants, “She doesn’t deserve to be kept hanging like some drowning fish on your hook.”

-

“Ellana? _What are you_ \- “ Mahanon almost drops his daggers when he sees the image of his sister pulling herself over Adamant’s ramparts. And then his stomach drops when he sees her face. “Creators, _you promised me_.”

Ellana’s lip curls up, and her eyes are not Ellana’s eyes. They are not the eyes of the sister he always loses, the sister he has been trying to hold onto and keep safe with the raw tips of his fingers.

Ellana walks up to him, and he can feel the energy rolling off of her, the threatening snap of what she’s holding back. She reaches up and her hand is blunt, clumsy, uncoordinated as she pushes the heel of her palm against his cheek.

“It’s shallow,” Mahanon says to the unasked question in her spread fingers. The cut has already scabbed, for the most part.

Mahanon quickly turns to throw a dagger at a Warden - it doesn’t land properly, but it’s enough to draw Solas’ attention to cast a wall of ice in front of him. Cole stumbles behind him, unbalanced and distracted.

Cole should not be here. He should leave. But he can’t, and Mahanon and Solas will do what they can to keep him safe until he can recover and find his footing again.

“She is not her, she is not right,” Cole whispers, “But no one here is, everything is wrong and twisting, twisted, twined around each other like so many thorns that scrape as they part even though they are all the same - _it always bleeds too late_.”

Ellana’s skin seems to shiver - or the flesh underneath it does. She’s close. She’s too close.

Mahanon sheathes his daggers and takes her face in his hands, forcing her to meet his eyes.

“You promised me,” Mahanon says. “I can’t lose you here.”

A low groaning rumble starts to push past her lips, he can feel it in his sweat-damp fingertips.

Mahanon closes his eyes because he can feel the wash of Solas’ mana over him - protecting him from the fight. This is not the time. This is not the place.

But Mahanon cannot deny that he needs help. He cannot deny that the Inquisition needs all the help it can get in this fight.

He cannot deny how selfish he is to want her to keep the promises he’s forced from her, knowing that they will be broken.

He knocks his head against hers and she pushes back, hot and hotter - unnaturally hot. She lets out another low rumble that vibrates his bones.

“Do you trust me?” Mahanon whispers and Ellana pushes back again, nuzzling their faces together. “I will bring you back. I _will bring you back_ , Ellana. Go. Do what you must. _Be great_.”

He lets go and pushes away, moving close to cover Solas - he cannot look. He cannot watch. But he does anyway. He must. It is his duty.

He is her guide. It has always been his duty.

(Privately: _his burden_.)

Ellana groans, hunching over, the air shimmering with heat around her as she doubles up, body jerking, flesh _writhing_ underneath her skin.

She plants her feet, fingers curling as she snarls, the sound building louder and louder over the sounds of fighting around them - drawing attention, drawing fire.

Ellana roars, and Mahanon’s muscles clench at the wet sound of ripping flesh -

The bear bursts forward, rising - _towering_ \- on her hind legs as she bellows into the night.

“Your sister is a keeper of shapes,” Solas says, out of the corner of his eye Mahanon sees the surprised and awe-struck look on the man’s face.

“She is a keeper of many things,” Mahanon says and then calls out, “Solas and I need to bring Cole to safety. Bring us to the Chargers and Dorian.”

The bear slams to four legs, swiping a foreleg out and sending Wardens crashing over the edge of the rampart. Her body fills almost the entire walkway.

“ _Go_ ,” Mahanon says, grabbing Cole by the back of his shirt and hauling him up. Solas casts another barrier and moves to guard their rear. “Make me a path.”

(And I will become yours.)


	15. Chapter 15

"Do you think Mom would be proud of me?” Malika asks, hands folded together, head down. Edirc rests his hand on her back, slowly easing himself down onto the sand next to her.

“Why do you ask that?”

“This isn’t Carta kind of violence,” Malika says covering her face with her hands, “This is just violence.”

Edric moves closer to her, pulling her into leaning against his side. He knew that this moment would come. Malika is curious, and she has always wanted to explore and travel beyond where the Cadash leaders sent her on assignment.

It would have been nice if the Inquisition had given her nothing but travel and exploration: meeting new people, learning about other cultures and races, trying new foods, wearing new clothes, fighting only the people that tried to hurt her, fighting the people who were in direct opposition of her.

But the Inquisition is a war machine and they’re right in the middle of a free-for all.

It isn’t that pretty.

“Malika, your mom loves you so much it’s terrifying,” Edric says, “Of course she’s proud of you. She might not always understand you and the reasons why you do the things you do, she might not always support what you do, but she loves you. She’s proud of what you’ve done on your own.”

“But what’s there to be proud of in all of this?” Malika exclaims, sitting up and gesturing towards the ruins of Adamant. “I just killed people. A lot of people that weren’t _bad_. I mean they were doing bad stuff and they were going to do more bad things but that’s because they were tricked by a _worse person_. They didn’t know. They were victims, too.”

“I know Malika, but that’s how it works out sometimes. It isn’t right, but the world isn’t always right. What’s there to be proud of? You’re alive, Malika. You’re alive and you’re feeling this way which means _you’re not a terrible person_ and that you can live to make sure this kind of shit doesn’t happen again,” Edric squeezes her, “If this hurts you that much, if this shakes you up like that, then focus on making it better. Help the Wardens when you can, work to make sure this kind of fuck up doesn’t happen again. That’s what the Inquisition is trying to do, that’s what the Inquisition is trying to fix. _Be better than what you see_.”

-

“Pearl, come on, this isn’t the time for this. _Move_. Ancestors you’re heavy, how are you this heavy?”

“What’s going on?” Kaaras says, laying down cover for some quickly sobering up soldiers running towards the Chantry, “Malika? Ellana? _The Chantry? Move?”_

“She won’t go,” Malika says, pulling at Ellana’s hand, “Kaaras, _help me_. Pearl, _please_. It isn’t safe for you here!”

“Ellana, I’m sorry but this isn’t the time for you to be all - _dreamy and you_ ,” Kaaras says, quickly rushing up to them and bending down to pick her up. “We’ve got to move and - _what the hell?_ ”

Kaaras can’t lift her.

Kaaras knows he isn’t as strong as Herah or Atlok or Bull - they spend their entire lives at strength and endurance training, and Kaaras mostly focuses on keeping himself loose for casting, but he’s Qunari. He can _lift some pretty heavy things_.

Ellana doesn’t even budge.

“What the hell are you standing around for? _Move_.” Herah bellows out from behind him, “What’s the hold up?”

“Help me move her,” Kaaras says and Herah stares at him like he’s crazy.

“For fuck’s sake, Kaaras,” She swears, grabbing Ellana’s arm and pulling, “What the fuck Lavellan.”

“ _I know_ ,” Kaaras says, “Come on, lift together.”

“Guys, _hurry_ ,” Malika says, drawing her axe and shield, moving to cover them. “The fighting is coming closer.

“Vashedan,” Herah says as Ellana snarls, stubbornly rooted to the ground while he and Herah try and lift her. “I swear - you look like half a sapling. _Move_.”

“What’s this?” Mahanon arrives, slipping out of stealth and staring at them, “What are you doing? _There is war at our gates_.”

“Your sister is impossible to move.”

Mahanon stares at them, then looks at his sister. And then walks up to her, takes the back of her neck in his hand, and _slams_ their heads together with a loud _crack_.

Herah, Kaaras, and Malika wince and yelp in response.

Ellana hisses.

Mahanon hisses back something in Dalish, shaking the back of her neck, “Go to the Chantry, do what they tell you. This is not for you. They are not for you.”

Ellana slowly nods and then turns around and strides towards the Chantry.

“You’re going to have to explain that,” Kaaras says, there isn’t even a _bruise_ on Mahanon’s forehead.

“If we live through this, maybe,” Mahanon replies, “Are my sister’s eccentricities so interesting that we stand around here and gossip waiting for enemy fire? _Go_.”

-

“Tell me the Iron Bull hasn’t seen this yet,” Edric says, “Tell me that _the Lavellans_ haven’t seen this yet. Tell me we’re sending it back to whatever blighted hell it came from.”

“That’s a little extreme, Edric,” Evelyn says, “Blackwall, what do you think?”

“It’s going to set the entire barn on fire,” Blackwall replies. “I don’t want to die smothered in ash because a lizard sneezed.”

“I knew you had a sense of drama underneath all that hair,” Maxwell snorts. “Evelyn, don’t make it stay next to Charlamagne.”

“I’m not putting _anything_ next to Charlamagne, Maxwell,” Evelyn says, gagging at the memory of the smell, “I’d feel to sorry for its stall neighbors.”

“Excellent, I love my unicorn and I don’t want the lizard hurting her,” Maxwell replies. “Sera, what do you think?”

“What’s wrong with normal horses?” Sera replies, then, “Do you think the weird Lavellan’s animal magic thing works on lizards?”

“I hope we never know,” Maxwell says, “It’s terrifying enough whenever she walks by animals they look like they’re going to bow to her or something. I don’t need that imagery with acid-drooling lizards. Why did you get this thing again?”

“I think it has a certain charm,” Evelyn shrugs.

“To bad it isn’t charmed by you,” Sera snorts.

“We just need time to get to know each other, is all,” Evelyn, sniffs, “And the burn was only a little one. I’m going to try and take the Dracolisc out again. Wish me luck.”

“May the Maker welcome you,” Maxwell says.

“Rest in pieces.” Sera waves, going to walk back towards the tavern now that she’s done collecting acid samples.

“I will remember you fondly,” Blackwall says picking up his axe to go back to chopping wood.

“You are all the most unsupportive people I have ever met and I take back everything nice I’ve ever said about you,” Evelyn mutters.

-


	16. Chapter 16

“Don't worry, Ellana, I've got you. I know you haven’t done this before; we’ll go slow. Easy stuff. Basics,” The Iron Bull squeezes Ellana’s arm, keeping his voice low, “I’ll talk you through the entire thing. You’ll know what I’m doing at all times. You’ll set the pace - give me feedback, ask questions, talk to me. Good?”

Ellana looks nervous and she lets out a warbling sort of half-bleat. The Iron Bull holds his hand out for her and Ellana’s hand darts into it like a fish, shaking a little before she curls their fingers together, squeezing tight.

“You can tell me to stop whenever you want,” He says, “You can tell me whenever it’s uncomfortable or if you don’t want to keep going. You can tell me if it hurts.”

Ellana nods, “Just like sex.”

He nods back, “Exactly like sex. You set the terms. Now, I’m going to put my hand on your waist and you’ll put your hand on my shoulder. Yeah, right there. And this is the starting position for the waltz. You doing okay?”

“I don’t know how people can live in this,” Ellana replies, and he can feel her muscles shifting under his hand, “My feet _hurt_.”

“I know, it’s stupid, but your legs look amazing.”

“They’re _legs_ how do they look amazing?” Ellana takes a nervous glance down, “People would hear me coming a mile off in these. Click, click, click they go.”

“Unless they smell the perfume first,” The Iron Bull points out and Ellana makes a face. “You know Evelyn wouldn’t actually make you wear this shit, right?”

“I want to do this for her,” Ellana says, squeezing his hand, looking up at him. “She’s done so much for me and my brother. I want this to go well for her. Aside from the whole - if Celene dies the world ends thing, I mean. I want this to go well _because I want her to do well for her_.”

The Iron Bull does not ask Ellana why she always leaves part-way through one of Harding’s dance lessons, or why she doesn’t really go to them at all. Ellana, in turn, offers no explanation.

“Alright, and here we go, I’m shit at humming so we’re going to do this with numbers.”

“I like numbers,” Ellana says, nervous again, “I like your numbers. You count well. Very steady. Which foot goes first and how do I move my feet in these shoes?”

-

“Wait, no, sorry - I wasn’t. I’m sorry, can you repeat that? I was distracted,” Evelyn shakes her head and Cullen raises his eyebrows in question. “I was thinking about Ellana.”

Evelyn only realizes the awkwardness of saying that in this situation after the words have left her mouth. Cullen’s eyebrows raise higher and his fingers twitch against hers.

“I’m not one to judge,” He says slowly, amused curl to his mouth and Evelyn groans, hitting the knuckles of her free hand to her forehead, “But if you’re thinking about someone else then perhaps I’m not doing as well at courtship as I hoped to be.”

“That’s not what I - I’m just. Josephine said something to me today and it’s been bothering me,” Evelyn says, stretching out her foot to nudge against his. “Cullen, you’ve managed two towers - I. How do you. Maker this is hard to talk about.”

Cullen’s brows draw downward and he leans forward, resting his free arm on his desk and turning to face her more. “What’s wrong?”

“Josephine came to me today, in private, and she told me that she - well,” Evelyn takes a breath, “She saw bruises on the inside of Ellana’s thighs. And she - and now I am, too - was concerned about - well. _How they got there_. I was hoping for some advice on how to handle the matter - I wasn’t sure who to ask but, well. You’ve managed Circles, and we all know the sort of things that happen in Circles whether we approve of it or not.”

Cullen releases Evelyn’s hand, “Inquisitor, that’s a serious accusation to make against someone. Have you spoken to Ellana about your concerns?”

“That’s just _it_ , Cullen,” Evelyn waves her hands, “We can’t ask Ellana because - you know. _Ellana._ She doesn’t talk, Cullen. Besides, how does one _ask_ that question?”

“She’s a grown woman, Inquisitor,” Cullen leans forward, resting his fingertips on her knee, “I’m not trying to brush off your, or the Ambassador’s, concerns, but you must ask her first. She has a way of getting her answers across without speaking, and there are signs to look for. Granted I don’t spend as much time around her as others may, but I don’t see those signs around her. You’re right in that I have seen such abuses of power before, but I don’t think that’s the situation here.”

“But how do we know that?” Evelyn groans, pulling at her hair as she runs her hands through it in frustration.

“Ask her,” Cullen repeats. “Ask those around her if they’ve noticed anything different. If anything, ask Leliana to investigate for you if you want it done subtly. That’s my advice on the matter, Inquisitor, as your Commander and leader of your troops. If anything untoward is happening - with evidence - I will gladly open investigations into it. But I believe that whatever is going on is not wrong or otherwise illicit. If anything, I can say that it isn’t one of our soldiers considering that most of them give her a rather wide berth.”

He catches Evelyn’s hand in his, reaching up to tilt her chin towards him, “And as your, and her friend, I advise you to trust in her. Ask her, be direct. Your concern will reach her, Evelyn. And this sort of thing is best addressed between friends, first.”

-

“I will wear the trousers, and perhaps the boots. I’ll have to try them on first,” Mahanon says, flicking his finger up and down the outfit Kaaras models. “The rest is terrible even by human standards. How many infants did they bleed to achieve that color of red?”

“You’re wearing it,” Kaaras says, “Everyone is wearing it.”

“Says who?” Mahanon rests his head on his fist, “And has anyone told Dorian that yet?”

Kaaras makes a face, “Don’t be stubborn.”

“Did they send you because they know I occasionally hesitate to say no to you, whereas I say no to Dorian out of amusement and for sport?” Mahanon muses, sitting up and running a hand through his hair, pulling it over his shoulder, “Perhaps I’m still dreaming. This is the reason why I shouldn’t nap in the afternoon. The dreams are very peculiar. You look awful, as an aside.”

“Thanks,” Kaaras says, “I can’t breathe.”

“That would explain the stronger purple tint,” Mahanon nods to himself, “I will wear the trousers. The boots are negotiable. I’ll ask Ellana for the sake of asking, but it’s questionable if she’ll even deign to come.”

“Ellana is coming, Evelyn asked and she said yes.”

“Funny, no one asked _me_ if I wanted to go to the slaughterhouse floor of my race.”

“ _Please.”_

 _“Alright_ , I’ll attempt to be have for the duration of this conversation,” Mahanon rolls his eyes. “Convince me.”

“Evelyn wants us all going as representatives of Thedas. Herah and I as the Tal-Vashoth who live peacefully outside the Qun; Edric and Malika as surface dwarves and traders; Maxwell as a former Templar and Free-Marcher noble; you and Ellana as Dalish ambassadors.”

“One, Edric and Malika are smugglers and criminals by trade and technicality. Two, Maxwell’s own parents pretend he doesn't exist and the only reason they don’t write him off entirely is because he’s too close to Evelyn and they’re power hungry sycophants. His words so don’t make that face, I’m not being insulting if I’m just repeating it. And three - the Dalish don’t _have_ ambassadors. I’m pretty sure humans killed them all.”

“Well then we’re down to the one ambassador and it’s your sister, are you just going to leave her to that?”

Mahanon clicks his tongue, curling his lip up, “Damn that brat. I still won’t wear that jacket.”

“Well you can’t go in topless, as wonderful and amazing as I’m sure you’d make it look,” Kaaras replies,  awkwardly unfastening the front of the decorative jacket.

“I’ll ask Ellana to make something appropriately suitable for _Dalish_ ambassadors,” Mahanon shrugs, “You might want to consider asking the Inquisitor if you can find something more - well. _You_. Representatives of all of Thedas, and such. Not,” Mahanon gestures at Kaaras, “Whatever that is.”


	17. Chapter 17

"And this must be Dorian Pavus, the Tevinter Altus - not to be mistaken for Magister - most recently of Minrathous.” Dorian looks up and sees a man approaching that Dorian doesn’t hesitate - not even for a moment - to label as _trouble_. The man smiles and Cadash grumbles, hitting a hand to his face.

“Trevelyan you giant embarrassment, you couldn’t wait for him to get settled in?”

Dorian’s eyebrows raise in surprise, “And if you’re Trevelyan and not Evelyn, you must be Maxwell, the Templar.”

“These days I go by templar _reject_ ,” Maxwell’s teeth flash a smile and he holds out his hand. Dorian takes it and is moderately surprised to find that Maxwell does neither of the things Dorian is used to when a hand is offered to him in the South. His grip isn’t strong or attempting to be intimidating, nor is it weak and disgustingly loose. Maxwell shakes Dorian’s hand firmly and briefly. “I’m incredibly opinionated with a flare for the dramatic that the Templar order just couldn’t beat, bore, or otherwise bludgeon out of me. Mother and Father were ever so _pleased_.”

Dorian snorts.

“I was showing Pavus around,” Cadash says, “Solas’ place is full so he gets this hut for himself, for now.”

“Not what you’re used to, I imagine,” Maxwell says, “I’ve done worse, myself, but that was during the process of the order trying to figure out if I stop talking when I sleep.” Maxwell lowers his voice and pretends to whisper, “Turns out I do but only because I’m too busy snoring.”

“Something you wanted, Trevelyan, other than to be a pain in my neck?”

“Edric, I’m so hurt by your words I find I may never recover from this wound to my ego,” Maxwell gasps.

“I’m beginning to sense that flair for the dramatic,” Dorian says.

Maxwell laughs. “Well, Dorian Pavus, I should hope so. Based on what Evelyn has told me we could get along quite well. I’m not sure myself. I mean, you _seem_ quite fun but also you’re missing your sleeves and I like to think the people I would like to count as fun know better than to _die_ in the Frostback mountains due to pneumonia. Would you like a coat? Because there’s an elf around here who seems to be allergic to wearing clothes and if we sew them together maybe we can get you a coat.”

“Did you come all the way here to mock the height of Tevinter fashion and ogle at the pariah?” Dorian raises an eyebrow, “Because you don’t look that much better yourself.”

“On the contrary, that’s just a bonus and a prelude,” Maxwell’s face abruptly drains of humor and he holds out his hand again. “Altus Pavus, I wanted to thank you for helping Evelyn. I mean, of course you had to because time was being destroyed and such, but I wanted to thank you for keeping her safe and fighting with her and all of the help you have offered her. Thank you for bringing her back.”

-

“You don’t like Ellana,” the Inquisitor says and Blackwall looks up from the doublet he’d been mending.

“Pardon?

The Inquisitor frowns, “You don’t like Ellana, and I want to know why.”

“I don’t _not_ like the girl,” Blackwall says, “She’s alright. She’s just - she’s a peculiar girl. Unnerving. I’m not the only one who would say so either.”

“I know, but you - you’re both my close friends and advisors. All of you are.” The Inquisitor’s eyes soften, “You’ve been at my side since Haven and before I was the Inquisitor. I’ve come to rely on you all very deeply and I just wish we could all get along better.”

“Sera actively provokes the Lavellans when she isn’t ignoring them, de Fer and Solas seem to be in a never ending pissing war, Solas and Sera avoid each other whenever possible, Rutherford looks like his skin is going to crawl off whenever he and de Fer are in the same room and she’s talking, Pavus and the Iron Bull tend to end up arguing over Tevinter and the Qun if there isn’t anyone between them that they mutually like, Athlok and Solas and Sera might just end up pulling glaring each other to actual death, Solas and the Iron Bull are always baiting each other, there’s the entire issue of the spirit boy, and to round it all off all of the mages in the group are constantly at each other’s throat _academically_ ,” Blackwall says, “Does that sum up the gossip circle?”

The Inquisitor grimaces, “The last part is mostly friendly, I assure you. And I’m working on the rest of it. Trust me on that. And part of that is working on why you don’t like Ellana. Now I know it isn’t that Ellana doesn’t like you - because as far as Ellana is concerned she doesn’t _not_ like anyone or anything. But she’s avoiding you and you don’t like her, so she’s doing it because you’re uncomfortable. What happened?”

“Nothing. I just find her perturbing, she’s a queer thing, Inquisitor.”

“Please don’t say she’s too _elfy_.”

“It isn’t that,” Blackwall snorts, “Was that Sera’s answer?”

“I’m going to guess it’s Sera’s answer. I don’t even know if I want to tackle that one.”

“You have a large circle of incredibly diverse people behind you, Evelyn. Not all of them are going to become the best of friends or get along.”

“I know,” Evelyn’s shoulders slump a little, “But I’d like to at least be able to have all of us in the same room together without a fight breaking out. Can’t we respect each other enough for that?”

-

Solas is faintly surprised and mostly curious when Ellana takes his hand and starts tugging him towards the stairs. It’s rare that Ellana initiates anything - especially contact. He allows her to pull him up the stairs and towards one of the secluded reading areas and is even more surprised to see the Iron Bull crammed into one of the narrow nooks.

She pushes him down into one of the seats as the Iron Bull waves at him, “You too, huh?”

“So it seems,” Solas says as Ellana squeezes in between them. “Do you know what this is about?”

“Nope, hoping this isn’t an intervention, though,” the man muses. Ellana hums. “Is it?”

Ellana clicks her tongue and then raises both arms, turning Solas and - Solas assume’s - the Iron Bull’s heads to look forward at -

“Pavus? You brought us here for Pavus?” The Iron Bull says.

Ellana chirps an affirmative and then slowly moves their heads in a different direction.

“Adaar?” Solas finds himself even more intrigued.

Ellana lowers her hands from their faces and clicks her tongue until they look at her. Ellana raises one finger and points at Dorian. She raises a finger on the other hand and points it at Kaaras. Slowly she brings the two fingers together to touch and then makes an _alright_ sign with both hands.

She looks at them both.

“Did you get that?” The Iron Bull asks him.

“I’m not sure,” Solas says, “It would help if words were involved.”

Ellana gives him a look that plainly says _nice try_.

Ellana raises the first two fingers on one hand and gestures at her eyes, and then his eyes and then points at her head and signals a thumbs up.

“I am even more uncertain as to what you are trying to convey,” Solas says.

Ellana groans and turns to the Iron Bull and repeats the signs. The Iron Bull’s eyebrows draw down in concentration. Solas has to admit that the Iron Bull’s patience is incredibly admirable.

“We see people good?” The Iron Bull asks. Ellana gives two thumbs up, beaming at him and turning to Solas, nodding.

“So?” The Iron Bull prompts.

Ellana repeats the pattern of pointing at Pavus and Kaaras, and then bringing her fingers together, looking at them expectantly.

It takes a moment for it to click.

Solas gets up, “I am not going to help you play matchmaker, da’len.”

Ellana lightly kicks at his shin.

The Iron Bull snorts, “You’re so nosy.”

Ellana blows a raspberry.

“No need to get mean about it,” Solas hears the Iron Bull say as he walks back to his desk, “Fine, I’ll help. What do you need me to do?”


	18. Chapter 18

“But what if Mother and Father don’t approve of him, Maxwell?” Evelyn wrings her hands together, “I want them to approve. Cullen is such a good man. _Not a word, Cole_.”

Dorian glances at Cole who ducks his head down and murmurs something to himself.

“Who cares what they think, Evelyn? _You’re the Inquisitor of Thedas_ ,” Maxwell waves a hand, “You’ve killed how many high dragons? Demons? Foiled how many plots? Give me a refresher because I wasn’t there for some of it because you are terrible and told Josephine she could send me off to _discuss_ things with people. As an aside - are you out of your mind about that? Me? Discuss things? With _people_?”

“I know, Evelyn, Maxwell can’t hold a discussion on any one particular topic to save his life,” Dorian snorts, “Are you going to finish writing that letter anytime soon? I know you wanted me around for moral support and such, and I do want to be supportive, but there’s only so much time in a day and watching you stare at a pen and paper like they’re going to kill you loses its charm after about _an hour or two_.”

Evelyn grimaces. “I just. How do I even start?”

“For one thing, I’m pretty sure most people know that you and the Commander are engaged in the most respectable and fictitious - in that it seems like it came out of a work of incredibly cliched theater, rather than it being false - courtship. Chances are this isn’t news, more like a formality,” Dorian says.

“A formality that will open the gates to a conversation that may end up very, very poorly,” Evelyn says.

“What does it matter?” Maxwell frowns, “They sent you to prison when you were twelve.”

“The Circle wasn’t a prison, Maxwell.”

“And they _used me as an excuse_ ,” Maxwell continues, voice gaining an electric edge.

Evelyn closes her eyes, “We went over this, Maxwell. They were right.”

“Well we haven’t come to terms of agreement just yet on that one,” Maxwell scowls.

Dorian looks between them, “Is this where I leave? Getting a little too personal?”

“It’s fine,” The Trevelyans say.

“Point is, who gives a shit about what your parents think?”

“You know, Maxwell,” Dorian says, “I know it sounds like a myth but apparently there are people in this world who care very deeply about what their parents think. Unlike you. I, for one, am a very reluctant example. Evelyn seems to be a more enthusiastic one.”

Maxwell waves his hand, “On the contrary, Dorian. I care _deeply_ about what my parents think. I’ve just realized they don’t care about what _I_ think at all. And that makes all the difference.”

-

Bull moves between Skinner and Dorian and a rage demon - he’s keenly aware of the fact that a giant hole opened up somewhere near the back of the fortress, and that a giant Arch Demon flew into it, and that the chances are that the Inquisitor was right in the middle of it are stupid high. That woman is a walking danger magnet. But there isn’t the time to think about how far down south this entire situation has plummeted.

“Alright?” Bull yells, and maybe Adaar is right and he is getting old because the bones of his arms are beginning to ache from holding off the blows of swords and maces with his own weapons.

“Working on it,” Dorian yells back, hauling Skinner up, “Dalish, where are you?”

“I’m out,” Dalish yells, twirling her staff and slamming it into an unfortunate Warden’s head, “I’m flush out, Pavus. Don’t you look at me.”

“Well I’m out, _too_ ,” Dorian yells back, “ _Fuck_.”

Bull feels the stone of the ramparts tremble.

“What the fuck now?” He turns and grunts because he’s so busy staring like a novice that he misses the fear demon that just narrowly misses probably shredding his shoulder to pieces because _a warden is thrown into it and both go over the ramparts_.

“Maker’s fucking cock,” Krem says over the almost sort of silence that descends in the face of _that_ , “Please tell me that thing is on our side.”

“Creators,” Dalish breathes, “ _The Dread Wolf laughs at us all_.”

“Is that a fucking bear?” Rocky says, “Ancestors damn it, Trevelyan, how bad is your luck that you’re attracting bears in the desert?”

“I think,” Bull says as the bear that takes up almost the entire path with its girth swipes out with an angry bellow and sends demons, wardens, and Venatori - who slipped in somewhere between the Arch Demon and the giant green hole - flying over the walls, “It’s on our side.”

Then the bear sees them and roars, and begins to run - _charge_ \- in earnest. And this bear. This bear is probably as big as the bears at the Graves.

Bull swears, and the bear barrels straight past him and tackles a pride demon head on, bellowing so deep it rattles Bull’s brain.

“Tell me one of you has potions,” Bull glances back and sees Mahanon dragging Cole behind him with Solas laying down cover fire behind them. “Because Cole is falling apart and Solas is down to his last lyrium potion.”

“All out,” Dalish says, “Is that Ellana?”

“Sometimes,” Mahanon says, and then cryptically, “Not for much longer.”

Bull turns back towards the bear, that - this close  and without the distraction of Wardens, Venatori, and demons clogging the area; funny how a giant angry bear can clear out a fight so fast - on the black fur he can make out lighter lines that vaguely remind him of Ellana’s vallaslin.

“Fucking hell,” Bull says because this makes sense.

Ellana’s fangs are firmly dug into the pride demon’s neck as she physically drags it down to the ground and begins to rip into it in earnest.

“Maker,” Dorian breathes.

“Not your Maker,” Mahanon snorts, and when Bull turns to look he’s clasped a hand to the side of Dorian’s neck and is checking him over, “Anyone seen the Cadash and Adaar?”

“Kaaras is on the opposite ramparts with Varric and Hawke’s group last I saw, and I know the Valo-kas were supposed to be holding the gates with Blackwall and Sera but they might have moved around,” Rocky says. “We need to get to Stitches.”

Mahanon looks them over, “Stitches is outside?”

“Yes,” Dalish says.

“Ellana will hold the rampart,” Mahanon says, “I’ll get you down to him and come back. Dorian, will you stay with her?”

“Dorian is out, too,” Bull says, “I’ll stay. Grim, go with them.”

“I will stay,” Solas says, “Bring back a few lyrium bottles and I will be fine.”

Ellana roars, throwing the pretty much dead pride demon to the side with her jaws and turning towards them, rising on her hind legs and grunting.

“Stay,” Mahanon yells at her, “I’ll be back for you.”

Ellana lets out a low rumble and swipes a paw out, a loud _crunch_ following when she makes contact with a Venatori fighter who got too close and didn’t have the sense to crouch.

“Keep her here,” Mahanon says, and when the Iron Bull looks Mahanon is looking directly at him. “Keep her. Please.”

There is meaning behind those words that the Iron Bull doesn’t have the context to understand.

“I got her,” Bull says anyway, and it feels true; not a lie. “Go. I’ve got her.”

-

Blackwall wakes up to a touch of something cold on his face, and he jerks into movement - fist swinging and hitting nothing but air.

As his vision clears and sorts out shadows, he sees -

“You?” Her name slips from his mind for a moment before it resolves itself - “Lavellan?”

The woman crouches, out of reach - eyes glowing in that strange fashion elf eyes tend to do in low light.

She tilts her head.

How did she get so close without him noticing?

“What are you doing here?” He asks, cautious and uncertain. He’s never seen her talk. She’s a peculiar sort of woman. “Is something wrong?”

She sits, head tilted for a while and Blackwall runs a hand down his face. He’s never had the patience for this sort of thing.

“What are _you_ doing here?” Blackwall freezes, looking back up at her. She continues to stare at him. “You,” her voice is deep, low, and it slowly pushes through his chest and presses against the bone there, “Are not a Warden.”

It’s like a bucket of ice was poured directly into him. His ears seem to ring and fill with silence at once.

“What?”

“You,” She repeats head tilting to the other side as she looks at him, “Are not a Warden.”

“That’s a serious accusation to make,” He says.

“That is a serious lie to spread,” She replies, “I will not say anything. There is a reason why you are lying. There is a reason behind this secret. I will keep it for you, not-Warden. But if you ever wanted to escape this trap you have made for yourself, simply ask. We all have secrets. I will help you out of yours.”

She slowly stands, eerie and quiet, and leaves.

He stares at the place she was.

_How did she know?_


	19. Chapter 19

“I don’t think your sister likes me,” Kaaras says, idly picking at strands of Mahanon’s light hair. Mahanon grunts, curling in closer, nose pressed against Kaaras’ collar bone.

“Why do you think that?”

“She doesn’t really - well. She doesn’t talk to anyone, but somehow it feels like she doesn’t talk to me less than she doesn’t talk to anyone else.”

Mahanon snorts, pushing his head back against Kaaras’ hand. Kaaras obligingly moves his hand a bit. “She doesn’t not like you. Ellana talks all the time. Be glad she doesn’t talk to you. She’s _annoying_.”

A loud bleat from behind Kaaras causes him to yelp and accidentally pull at Mahanon’s hair, causing Mahanon to hiss.

Kaaras and Mahanon both look over Kaaras’ shoulder and Ellana is peering at them from over the edge of the bed, eyes laughing.

“See?” Mahanon grumbles, sitting up and turning around, “Annoying.”

“How did she get in here?” Kaaras says, embarrassed to be caught in bed with Ellana’s brother. He knows that she knows, but it’s another thing entirely to be naked with the man while Ellana is  - for once - clothed. He’s fairly certain that the clothes aren’t hers, judging by the style and fit - a mix of Herah and Stitches from the looks of it.

Ellana and Mahanon both point at the window.

Kaaras gapes, “That’s a _sheer drop_.”

Ellana sticks out her tongue and gets onto the bed, shoving at Kaaras’ shoulder to make room.

“Go away,” Mahanon says. Ellana rolls her eyes. Kaaras moves over, but Ellana keeps pushing at his shoulders.

“Um?” Kaaras rolls until he’s right against Mahanon’s back. Mahanon is slowly drawing his hair together, running his hands through it in preparation to tie it. “I’ll need my clothes first if you want me to leave.”

“She doesn’t want you to leave, she wants you to sit up,” Mahanon says, “Where did my hair tie go?”

Kaaras sits up and Ellana nods, then starts pushing at him again. Kaaras waits to see if either Lavellan will say anything, and nervously starts moving in the way Ellana is directing him when neither one speaks.

Kaaras can feel his skin heating up as Ellana nudges and pushes and outright shoves him into sitting directly behind Mahanon, leg on either side of the man.

Mahanon lets go of his hair and twists around to look at Ellana from around Kaaras, seemingly unbothered by the way she’s arranging them.

“Why are you being so annoying today?” Mahanon says, and he only sounds like he half-means it. It makes Kaaras think of Herah, which is - of course - absolutely what is needed to complete this awkward picture.

Ellana honks and then leans her head on Kaaras’ shoulder, stretching her arms around him to take each of his wrists and raise them. Her hands direct Kaaras’ hands to Mahanon’s hair.

Mahanon’s eyebrows raise up.

Ellana sings a wordless bar, sitting up. She has to press entirely flush against Kaaras’ back tor each around, and Kaaras just stares at Mahanon because they are both naked and Ellana is flush against his back and this is incredibly awkward and _Kaaras doesn’t know what’s happening exactly_.

Mahanon turns around, giving Ellana and Kaaras a fond look, before fully throwing his hair over his shoulders to hang down his back.

Ellana begins to direct Kaaras’ hands to take Mahanon’s hair and -

“She wants to teach you how to braid my hair,” Mahanon says, “In the ways of our people.”

Kaaras’ eyebrows raise. If it wouldn’t result in him probably knocking out Ellana’s eye with a horn he’d turn to look at her.

“I told you, she doesn’t _not_ like you,” Mahanon says. Ellana sings another few notes, and presses a quick kiss to Kaaras’ shoulder before smacking his hands with hers and chirping, directing him again in earnest. “Ma serannas, sister.”

-

“So?” The Iron Bull moves to lie next to her. Ellana’s dark hair pools out on the bed and her eyes are closed.

She shrugs her shoulders and hums.

He laughs and Ellana’s lips curl up.

“I tried,” He says and Ellana nods.

“You did try,” She opens her eyes and looks at him, hands curled on her stomach, “It was - there was a lot more _wet_ involved than I thought. I don’t _dislike it_ but I cannot say I liked it. That said, I do not think this is something that will be a regular thing between us, the Iron Bull.”

“And I told you that’s fine,” He reaches up to stroke her cheek with his thumb, “You didn’t have to try it at all.”

“There were parts that I _did_ like,” Ellana says.

“Which parts?” He asks.

Ellana unfolds her hands and reaches for him, coaxing him into moving over her. Ellana pulls his head down to hers, bringing their faces close. Her eyes close and her smile grows.

“This,” Ellana answers, softly, hands resting idly at his neck. “The sound of your heartbeat all around me, being surrounded by you, feeling you. I liked this. I like to be close to you. The rest I could do without. But this? _This_ I liked. This I liked very much.”

Bull is careful as he lowers more of his body onto her, careful to keep his weight on his forearms and Ellana’s smile grows.

“I can do that,” Bull tells her, “Less orgasms more hugs. Got it.”

Ellana moves her head, touching their noses together before kissing his cheek, “This is fine, too. Kissing. Like this.”

“Noted,” Bull says as Ellana presses quick and smiling lightning kisses to his face. “What else?”

“Your hands,” Ellana says, and he watches her eyes move under her eyelids, sorting through the past hour or so, “I like to hold your hands. They’re as warm as mine.”

Ellana’s skin, Ellana’s body, _is_ surprisingly warm. Not feverish, but _warm_ for all that she doesn’t wear much clothing and no shoes.

“Hugging, hand holding, kissing,” He lists off. Ellana nods, humming as she opens her eyes.

“And when I said no you stopped,” She says. “I appreciate that.”

“I told you,” He says, moving off of her and then pulling her onto him. She presses her cheek to his chest, arms moving to spread over him. “You’re the boss here. You make the rules.”

“We make the rules,” Ellana corrects, “I am here for you, not just for me. Consent goes two ways.”


	20. Chapter 20

"The reason I never told you,” Mahanon’s voice cracks the silence like a very soft and delicate scratch in a shell, “Is because I - _we_ \- are ashamed.”

Kaaras looks up from Dorian’s hand in his own. Mahanon stands, back against the door like it’s taking all of his will to stand there without running. Mahanon’s fine hands press flat against the wooden door and his face is tilted downwards, a strangle of emotions that Kaaras isn’t used to seeing on Mahanon’s face.

Boredom, annoyance, amusement, fondness. Kaaras knows these four things on Mahanon’s face well and in all their subtleties.

The twisted coil of _things_ on Mahanon’s face now is not subtle, and it is not familiar.

Dorian’s hand squeezes in his own.

“You said you didn’t say anything because it didn’t matter,” Dorian says, voice low. Too quiet. Too - too - it reminds Kaaras of the bottom of dry rivers and lakes. The image of them, too. Wrong.

“I said that because that was them,” Mahanon says, fingers slowly curling over wood, “I didn’t want to say in front of them.”

“Layers upon layers,” Dorian whispers. “You know - back in Tevinter. Back in Tevinter I would have expected this. To be held on the side, far away and empty. Not from you. Not like this. I feel remarkably foolish, now. But more than that - somehow bitterly satisfied.”

Mahanon’s hands curl into fists and Kaaras’s throat stings.

“How could you do that to Kaaras, though?” Dorian’s voice sparks like tinder - “I can take it. It’s something I expect, it’s something I’ve told myself to make do with my entire life. Never hope for - . Fuck it. But what about him?”

Kaaras stares at Dorian and Mahanon flinches against the door.

“Dorian,” Kaaras starts, but doesn’t know how to finish. Dorians stands up, placing himself between Kaaras and Mahanon. “Dorian, wait.”

“No,” Dorian says, and Kaaras recognizes the snapping heat in his shoulders. Kaaras stands up quickly to try and stop this from going further, reaching out for Dorian’s shoulder even as Dorian moves to push Mahanon out of the door, _out of their lives_ -

“ _We were ashamed_ ,” Mahanon bursts out, voice cracking apart like so many eggs, so many brittle bleached bones, “That’s why we never said anything. Because we were ashamed. Because we hated it. Because - because.”

Mahanon’s voice chokes and his head bows, shivers, “Because we were forced into it and we - . It’s all for _her_. I love her, I can’t leave her, and they know that. They know I would never leave her - me, and me alone. Because I would choose her they thought - they thought that at least I knew what I was going into, at least I would know how to handle her. Of all the men in the world at least theres as me. And no matter what we said or argued it wouldn’t matter because they were right.” Mahanon’s shoulders curl and he seems to fold into himself, a browning leaf. “Sometimes I think if she were still First or maybe even Second or maybe, just maybe, if she were different. If she were a different person, if she had chosen a different path, if she had done anything else it would be different and I - .” Mahanon curls over himself. “Sometimes I hate her for it. Sometimes I hate her so much even though she’s my sister and _\- “_

Mahanon lets out a shuddering gasp and Kaaras realizes, in the silence between his words that Mahanon is trying not to cry.

Kaaras moves around Dorian to take Mahanon’s shoulders in his hands, trying to get Mahanon to either straighten up or sit down.

“Sometimes I hate her for it,” Mahanon whispers, eyes tightly shut, head lowered, “And she knows. Because she is my sister and we have been together for as long as she has been alive - three and thirty years of being together, of course she knows - so we never talk about it. We pretend it never happened unless it is to deny it with everything we have, to argue and fight against it. To talk about how we might break free of it. But that is the reason, Dorian, Kaaras. that is the reason why I said nothing, why she says nothing. Because the thing that is meant to bind us together for the rest of our lives is the thing that would tear us apart for eternity and beyond. _That is the real secret; sometimes I do not love my sister_.”

-

“It is because we are ashamed,” Those are Ellana’s first words when she finally caves to Bull’s silence. He turns to look at her. She’s curled in on herself in the corner of their - his - room, hunched over like a cowering animal. She’s not quite looking at him. “That is why we tell no one.”

Bull turns to face her fully, taking in the heat underneath her words, the hunted shadows that slide underneath her down-turned face.

“It’s my fault,” She says, voice cracking like a whip against skin. “It’s all my fault - I am his burden. A noose around his neck. A rock tied to his ankle as he drowns. Did you know that? Once we were siblings and equal, now I have forced him into a debt that I can never repay.”

Ellana drags her fingers down her face, pushing herself further into the corner. Bull stands up and crosses the room to her, slowly lowering himself to crouch in front of her. He waits for her to meet his eyes.

“It’s because I’m not good enough,” Ellana whispers, hands curled together like brambles at her neck, toes curling and body pulling itself into a tight coil. The words slide out of her like oil. Not blood. More like tar. Something thicker. Something far more insidious. That’s generally how secrets are in Bull’s experience. “If I were better at my magic - if I had been born for fire or water or healing or dreams I could have been First, still. Even if I were Second or a different sort of Third they would not have matched us. If was a little bit better at controlling my magic as I am now, they would have listened and cut the tie between us. But I am not. I failed him. I fail him every time and we don’t talk about it because it ruins the hope. Every time we think, _Ellana is doing better, this time we will prove that she does not need Mahanon_. Every time we fail. He hates me for it, you know. I see it in his eyes. Every time I fail him. He tries to hide it but I see it. I’ve seen his face almost every waking hour since I was born, I know it. I understand. I hate me, too.”

“What kind of magic?” Bull asks. He has never seen her cast a spell. He has never seen her use magic before. He knows she is a mage because she is a Second and because sometimes one of the other mages will make a comment about her aura. But he has never seen or heard of her actually performing magic.

Ellana shakes her head and covers her face again.

“I am ashamed,” She says. “I am shame. That the secret underneath our marriage; _I am his burden, and I am killing my brother.”_


	21. Chapter 21

“Maxwell, this is insane. You don’t need to do this - _you know what’s at stake_.”

“You know what’s at stake, Evelyn, we all do,” Maxwell snaps, “And frankly, it’s none of your business.”

“I have to agree with the Inquisitor, Maxwell,” Cullen says, stepping between the cousins, “You know what lyrium can do.”

“Of course I know, I was a templar in training for almost a decade,” Maxwell replies, “ _We all know what lyrium can do_. Evelyn, we are about to launch a siege on the Wardens in Adamant fortress where we know that they’re working on summoning a demon army. Doyon think I’m going to just stand by and _watch_ that happen? What the hell is the point of me being here if all I ever _do_ is watch?”

“Maxwell, that’s not all you do - you have no idea how much you’ve helped me, helped _all of us_ ,” Evelyn reaches for Maxwell’s hand but he pulls away, eyes flashing.

“It’s not enough, Evelyn. What good am I to you? To anyone here? A templar who’s never had a draught of lyrium, I’m a _joke_.”

“You were so happy about that,” Evelyn says softly, “You were so relieved, Max. I remember that letter. It was one of the most important letters you ever sent me.”

“Evelyn,” Maxwell looks his cousin in the eye, “That was then. This is now; this is you almost dying and the world falling about our ears. I am taking that lyrium and you can’t stop me.”

“Maxwell, it will _kill you_ ,” Cullen says, “The lyrium leash is not one you can break easily. Be glad you’ve never been on it. _Don’t do this_.”

“We’re all dying anyway, I might as well put mine to some use then,” Maxwell replies, moving to shove Cullen out of the way when the door to Cullen’s office bursts open. They turn in time to see Ellana dart in and around them, grabbing the box with the philter and lyrium dose, quickly tossing it out through the other door.

“Ellana!” Evelyn gasps -

“Got it!” Maxwell hears Herah yell, “Edric, get this thing out of here.”

The door Ellana just burst through opens again and they turn around to see Dorian.

“I know, I know, you can always get another one. It’s more of a symbolic thing, Trevelyan. Don’t be an idiot now, I so hate it when people make me look like a fool for judging them as intelligent.”

“All of you are butting in when it’s none of your business,” Maxwell says, “How did you even know?”

“Heard you yelling,” The door opens again and Blackwall walks in followed by Sera, “Trevelyan you horse’s ass, you know how damn hard it is to quit lyrium. You’ve seen the struggle with it.”

“Again, _none of your business_. Look. All of you are something - Evelyn is the Inquisitor, Herah is an amazing fighter who can talk her way out of any situation, Mahanon is some kind of eerie assassin, Malika’s clever, Kaaras is good with his hands, Dorian’s an amazing researcher with Tevinter contacts - _you all have something_. I’m just - _I’m just Maxwell, failed templar and disgrace of the Trevelyan family_. At least with the lyrium I could be more useful. I could be worth something.”

A hand tugs at Maxwell’s sleeve and he turns to see Ellana standing incredibly close. Her dark eyes slowly blink as she moves in and touches the tip of her nose to his.

Maxwell stares at her. She stares back.

And then he remembers -

It feels like something sweeps inside of his chest with surprise and almost laughter.

“You remembered that?” Maxwell asks. Ellana smiles, the tips of their noses rubbing together.

His own words echo back at him - _a person’s worth is not determined by the role they fill._

He starts to smile.

And then Ellana slams her forehead into his and his last thoughts before blacking out are _“Ellana, you annoying little shit.”_

_-_

_“_ So,” Varric looks around the area he overheard Leliana’s scouts say they spotted a strange figure, “I don’t know if there’s a code word to draw out Dalish elves or not. But uh - just a heads up, you might want to consider making yourself more visible to the Inquisition soldiers in the area. The ones with the giant creepy eye on them. They’re currently on a man hunt for the person who made the Conclave go boom.”

Varric gets what he’s learned as a courtesy sound, before something drops out of the trees and lands directly behind him. Varric turns and is face to face with a crouching elf. The man tilts his head, pale braid pulled over one shoulder.

“I know, that is why I am hiding myself from them. I did not cause that explosion, dwarf,” The man tilts his head to the other side. If Daisy was something like a kitten, then this one makes Varric think of something a little more leaner. Older. A little more focused and precise. He’s debating on whether it’s snake or bird.

“Well, hiding and running around the woods like this isn’t really helping your case there,” Varric points out. “Maybe talking to them would. I’m pretty sure they wouldn’t kill you on the spot.”

“I do not know you, dwarf, though I know _of_ you. I cannot trust your word.” The elf narrows his eyes then shifts his weight from foot to foot. “But I do know of one who does know you. Merrill of Sabrae - would she vouch for you, Varric Tethras?”

“Daisy?” Varric raises his eyebrows, “You know her?”

The man nods. “Would she vouch for your word?”

“Yes,” Varric says, _probably_.

The man hums, “Then I will take it. You say these Inquisition soldiers will not shoot me on sight? They will listen to me if I speak to them and say that I am innocent of this?”

“Tell you what, I’ll go with you, that way they can kill us both if things go south,” Varric replies. The man raises an eyebrow. “I write tragedies, not pep talks.”

The man’s lip twitches upwards and he casts a look around them.

“I go,” He says finally, “On your word and Merrill Sabrae’s.”

-

“Listen, Herah,” Evelyn runs her hands through her hair, “I just. I just need you to tell me things aren’t as bad as they look. Fucking _lie to me_.”

“Shit, Evelyn,” Herah reaches out to put her hand on Evelyn’s shoulder, “What’s wrong?”

Evelyn lets out an incredulous snort, “What _isn’t_ wrong, Herah? Both Lavellan’s haven’t been seen since Adamant - and last they were, one of them was a _bear._ Cullen’s withdrawals have gotten worse. Cole is _frightened_ for his very autonomy and existence. Varric hates me because I _sent Hawke off to die_ and I _still_ let the Wardens stay. Blackwall’s been cagier than normal. Now I’ve got Maxwell talking about lyrium _again_. And that’s just _this damn week_. It’s falling about my ears Herah, and I don’t know what I’m doing.”

She raises her head, “I wish it were you instead of me, Herah. You never - you’re always calm. Steady. Sometimes I’m just so envious of you. You’re what a leader is supposed to be. You _know what you’re doing_.”

Herah raises her eyebrows, “First of all, _no_. I would make a shitty leader of something this big. Ask Kaaras next time you see him about it. Second of all, Evelyn you are a great leader and a great friend. You wouldn’t be feeling this way if you weren’t. You _care about us_. That’s more than you can say for most people out there.”

“What does it matter if I care if I can’t do anything about it?” Evelyn snaps, “What does it matter that I care if we all die anyway?”

Herah catches Evelyn’s hand as she moves to punch her fist against the table.

“Evelyn,” Herah squeezes her wrist.

“I’m sorry,” Evelyn’s shoulders sag and she lowers her head down towards the table, resting her forehead against the surface, “I just don’t know what I’m doing.”

“And that’s why you’ve got advisors. And friends. Ask us for help. Delegate. Find experts, gather opinions. What you’ve been doing this entire time. Like any _good leader should_. Evelyn, you might not be the smartest or strongest or the one who’s coolest under pressure but we’d still choose you to be our leader. You listen. You balance us out. You pull us all together from all the different directions we’re going. We need you for the Inquisition; without you this entire thing would fall apart.”

“Thank you, Herah,” Evelyn mutters, energy drained out of her, “But it really only matters if we get out of this.”

“One day at a time, Trevelyan,” Herah rubs her hand over Evelyn’s back, “Just like we’ve been doing. A thousand questions and one day at a time.”


	22. Chapter 22

“Maxwell,” He turns and sees Herah beckoning at him to join her on the upper balcony. Maxwell excuses himself as quickly from the conversation as he is able and goes to find her.

“Thank the Maker, Herah,” He says when he sees her, “I was terrified that I’d start sneezing from the pomp and perfume any second. Why are you skulking about the balcony? If it’s the keep Cole company you ought to know that I actually saw him, trailing after Malika as she tried to con her way into getting to see some of the off limit display areas. I love that girl, really I do.”

“I have to ask you a favor, Maxwell,” Herah says. Maxwell raises his eyebrows. “You’re literally the only person who can do it, trust me, I would have asked someone else if there was someone else to ask.”

“I don’t think you quite know how asking for a favor works, Herah,” Maxwell snorts. “But do go on, what’s the favor?”

“I need you to dance with Josephine for me, and then relay what I’m saying to her through Kaaras’ spell,” Herah says.

“What? Why can’t you just dance with her yourself?”

“Because I’m a Qunari Tal-Vashoth mercenary who’s also a woman,” Herah replies, “I like her a lot, Maxwell. And I don’t want to ruin her reputation and my chances with her just for one dance in Halamshiral.”

“You’re also one of the most trusted advisors to the Inquisitor of Thedas,” Maxwell points out, “It wouldn’t be too out of place for the two of you to dance together.”

“I’m not risking her reputation, Maxwell.”

“And it’s better off if she dances with the disgraced and spider’s thread away from being disowned reject templar?”

“Literally _everyone_ I could ask is a _fugitive_ ,” Herah says. “You are one step above everyone else, Maxwell.”

Maxwell grimaces. “Damn my blue blood and sparkling reputation. Fine, I’ll do it. I won’t be dancing with anyone else tonight.”

Herah narrows her eyes, “That’s only because you can’t scrape together the courage to ask Pentaghast. She’d say _yes_ , you know. Probably. I mean, you basically gave her answer for her by not asking.”

“Another time, Herah,” Maxwell waves his hand, “Just let me know when you two are ready for the spell, alright?”

-

Evelyn can't help but find herself staring across the table at Ellana. Cullen’s advice and her own concern curl over themselves in endless knots in her head and her stomach. Should she ask? Perhaps she and Josephine are over thinking it. Ellana is a grown woman and Cullen is right. There are signs for such abuses. Ellana has never shown any of them.

But would Ellana know? A ridiculous question, Ellana isn’t simple minded and even those who are simple of mind know to show distress. Ellana would have made it known. Ellana isn’t the type, Evelyn thinks, to allow herself to be hurt in such a way.

Ellana looks at her and tilts her head. Evelyn glances away, guilty at being caught. Ellana abruptly stands up on her chair and climbs onto the table. It’s a common enough occurrence that no one looks up. If Evelyn weren’t paying attention she wouldn’t have noticed, either.

Dorian continues to slowly page through the notes Solas handed over to him for the day, Herah and Sera remain immersed in their conversation about the experimental poison they’re trying, and Edric keeps eating.

Evelyn meets Ellana’s gaze head on. She was caught red handed, after all.

“Something wrong with the food?” Herah asks when Ellana makes no sound or motion, “If you’re upset that we’re rationing your meat to vegetable ratio remember that we’re all very concerned about your diet. Just because we now know that sometimes you aren’t person-shaped doesn’t mean you should eat like an animal at all times. It can’t be good for you, girl.”

Ellana walks down the table and crouches in front of Evelyn. The pair of loose shorts someone probably bribed her into slides down her legs, revealing the faded bruises on the inside of her thighs.

Ellana points her left finger at them, then at Evelyn.

“Was I really that obvious?” Evelyn asks. She doesn’t ask how Ellana knew that that was what Evelyn was thinking about.

Ellana pinches the pointer and thumb finger of her right hand together, corner of her lip quirking up.

“What is it?” Edric turns to look at them, “Problem?”

Evelyn hesitates and Ellana nods.

“A week or so ago Josephine told me she saw some concerning marks on Ellana’s thighs,” Evelyn says carefully, drawing the attention of the rest of their assembled friends.

“Say _what_ ,” Sera leans around Herah, “Someone had sex with _that_?”

“ _Sera_ ,” Herah says and then turns to meet Evelyn’s gaze - familiar concern in her eyes, a familiar question.

“Are you joking?” Dorian says, “Ellana, is she telling the truth?”

Before Evelyn can answer, Ellana’s left hand catches Evelyn’s chin and turns Evelyn’s face back to hers. Ellana’s face is surprisingly sober - it isn’t the normal sort of dream Evelyn is used to relying on. Her face looks like her brothers. It would be easy to mistake them as being actually related, if the Ellana looked like this all the time.

She holds up the pinched fingers - her middle, ring, and pinky held aloft. She slowly curls her middle finger down.

“I said yes.”

The words take a moment to become words in Evelyn’s mind for the fact that she isn’t used to hearing words in that voice from that person. Silence spreads over the table in the wake of the surprisingly deep and steady voice that comes from Ellana’s mouth.

And then it shatters.

“ _You talk?”_ Sera bursts out, standing and sending her chair skidding back, “ _This entire time and you could fucking talk?_ ”

“I told you!” Dorian throws his arms up, pointing at Herah, “I told you and you didn’t believe me and - _who did you say yes to? Does your brother know about this?_ ”

“Ancestors why am I always here for this shit?” Edric groans and puts his face in his hands.

“What did you say yes _too_?” Herah says, leaning forward.

“And when I stopped saying yes,” Ellana curls her ring finger down, “He stopped.”

“It’s a he,” Dorian says, “Edric, how fast do you think we could figure out which _he_ she means? Ellana please tell me Mahanon knows. Please tell me that you weren’t sitting on this to break it to him.”

“ _Why am I always here for this shit?_ ” Edric repeats. “I don’t know, Dorian. I hear rumors, I don’t actively run after them.”

“I can’t believe this,” Sera says sitting down, gaping at Ellana. “First you pretend to be mute and now this? What the fuck? What else do you got? I can’t believe it.”

“ _Sera_ ,” Herah repeats in a warning tone.

“Wait,” Evelyn cuts into the noise, staring at Ellana’s still raised pinky, “Ellana. Is there something else?”

Ellana’s face softens - not the same dream, not quite the familiar sharp gravity of Mahanon’s frown. More like a tinge in the horizon.

Ellana releases Evelyn’s chin and points at the marks again, curling her pinky down.

“They were placed with care.”


	23. Chapter 23

“This can’t be too hard, it’s like sword fighting but with a little tiny sword, right?” Maxwell says, weighing Herah’s dagger in his hands.

Edric turns to Malika, “This is terrible and he’s going to kill himself on accident.”

“Why do you always jump to the worst conclusion first? I mean, I’d have to ask Ellana or Dagna to do the numbers for that but you’re probably right, but _we don’t know that this will turn out terrible_ ,” Malika says, “Maxwell’s a competent fighter.”

“Oh you flatterer, you,” Maxwell says, raising the dagger up to his face to stare down it. Herah quickly takes the dagger.

  
“Pointy side away from the face, Trevelyan,” Herah says, “I’m pretty sure gouging out your own eye on accident wouldn’t make you look better to the Seeker.”

“False because Cassandra sees people for who they are not what they look like,” Maxwell replies. “Anyway, let’s get this show started and remind me why I’m doing this?”

“Because you volunteered to learn with me when I asked Herah to teach me how to knife fight like a rogue,” Malika says. “I mean, I’m alright at it - Carta, _duh_ \- but I’d like to be better at it and you said that if we did it together then at least I wouldn’t be the worst one because it’s _you_.”

“Sounds like me,” Maxwell says after a moment, “Now remind me why Mahanon is sleeping in the tree above us?”

“We tried to ask him to help teach you,” Herah says, “He said no but he’s here to watch.”

“To step in in case we need help?”

“To point out exactly where things go wrong when we have to report any incidents back to the Commander and your cousin.”

-

“I was told that you were the one who took my clothes and tailored them for me,” Evelyn says, nervous as she tries not to fidget in front of Lavellan.

He’s unnerving. Mostly because he doesn’t really talk to anyone, least of all Evelyn. But she thinks that he isn’t a bad person. He’s patient around his sister and according to what the others told her, he volunteered to help hunt and gather supplies for the Inquisition. He’s one of their main food and hide resources. Evelyn hasn’t really seen him interact with anyone, but she hasn’t heard of him causing any incidents either.

The man says nothing, just continues to make arrows.

“And that you’re the one who caught the hares to sew the lining onto them. Thank you. You didn’t have to.”

“Nor did you,” The man replies, shrugging, reaching over to a stack of wood. He picks up a long stick and examines it, pulling out a knife and begins making an arrow shaft.

“Pardon?”

Lavellan looks up at her, “You do not have to be kind to my sister. But you are. Thank you.”

“Oh,” Evelyn blinks. “You don’t have to thank me for that. Kindness doesn’t hurt anyone, and your sister is plenty easy to be kind to.”

He shakes his head, looking down at his work. Evelyn cautiously takes a seat on one of the rocks next to him.

“Kindness is not easy,” Lavellan says, and then reaches to the side and hands her a small sack of feathers and string. Evelyn supposes she’s being put to work. She begins to sort and group fletching. He watches her hands for a moment then nods in approval. “Kindness is not easy. it is a choice.. And it is difficult to choose to be kind to the unfamiliar and unknown, the strange. My sister is all three to you. To many. There are not many who would be kind to her. There are many who are not. You chose otherwise. We acknowledge it. We appreciate it. We will repay it.”

“Kindness shouldn’t be something you need to repay, Lavellan.”

“Mahanon,” Lavellan says, “You can call me Mahanon.”

“And you can call me Evelyn, Mahanon,” She says, “Forgive me if I’m over stepping, but - debts of kindness and affection and support are not things to be paid between friends.”

Mahanon hums, eyebrow raising, “And is that what we are to be, Herald of _Andraste_?”

Evelyn grimaces, but when she rotates her wrists she can feel the soft and carefully added lining of the fur along the insides of her sleeves. “I would very much like to be your and Ellana’s friend, Mahanon. As Evelyn, rather than whatever and whoever it is the others think I might be.”

“I cannot say that I have much experience in friends, Evelyn Trevelyan,” Mahanon says, “I think this once I would gamble on it. I cannot speak for my sister - thought I think her mind is already made up about you - but I suppose I will call you _friend_. And as your friend I am going to tell you that your cousin is probably going to lose a finger if you let him practice archery with Sera.”

Evelyn looks up, drops the fletching - “ _Maxwell, what the hell do you think you’re doing? Are you on fire?_ ”

-

“Is it racist to give dwarves nugs?” Kaaras asks.

“I wouldn’t be able to say,” Cullen replies, “Why?”

“Evelyn has nugalopes,” Kaaras answers.

Cullen stares at him. “We aren’t paying Dennet nearly enough.”

“I agree without even knowing the figures,” Kaaras says, “But anyway I think Evelyn wanted to give one to Edric. She said something about its face made her think of him whenever he looks at a fight.”

“Resigned to his fate but solemnly determined to try not to die while living through it?” Cullen asks.

“Droopy was the word she used but I don’t think you’re wrong, either,” Kaaras says. “But since dwarves and nugs tend to be associated with each other because nugs normally come from the Deep Roads would it be culturally insensitive of her to do that?”

“Again, I wouldn’t be able to say since I, myself, am not a dwarf and have no real knowledge of their culture,” Cullen says. “When did we get nugalopes? How did we get nugalopes?”

“How did we get over seven types of deer?” Kaaras replies.

Cullen looks baffled, “Ellana? _Again_? How is she doing it? Where does she find them?”

“I meant more of a like - it’s a mystery sort of thing,” Kaaras says. “I’m pretty sure this one had something to do with a golden nug statue that Maxwell bought as a gift for Leliana.”

“Maxwell bought a _golden nug_ statue for Leliana?”

“I think he’s hoping to get on her good side for tips on how to court Cassandra.”  


	24. Chapter 24

“Athlok, these are the Lavellans. They’re volunteers with the Inquisition. Mahanon hunts and gathers food stores,” Herah says, hands resting on Mahanon and Ellana’s shoulders as she introduces them, “And this is his sister Ellana. She’s a mage, but she doesn’t cast spells.”

Herha pauses then, and breaks off into Qunlat. Athlok narrows his eyes and crosses his arms.

Both Lavellans turn to the Iron Bull.

“She’s telling him that you aren’t the stabby skin-the-outsiders alive kind of elves,” Bull says. “In fancier words.”

Ellana and Mahanon look absolutely baffled. Ellana points at Mahanon and Mahanon gestures at the sheathes on his arms.

“I’m flattered. But. She’s met me, right?” Mahanon says. Ellana turns to Herah, tugging at her jacket and making increasingly confused gestures towards Mahanon, as if to say, _are you joking? Are you seeing this?_

“ _Lavellans_ ,” Herah squeezes both their shoulders. “This is Athlok. He’s a member of the Valo-kas and he helped raise me and Kaaras. Say hi and prove to him that you aren’t savages so he doesn’t get it in his head that he has to mother you into civilization.”

Both Lavellans grimace. Ellana makes a rough hacking sound and Mahanon sticks out his tongue. Athlok gives Herah a _look_.

Herah’s grip on both their shoulders tightens.

“ _Lavellans_.”

“Hi,” Mahanon says, looking up at Athlok. “It’s an experience meeting you.”

Ellana squirms under Herah’s grip and makes a plaintive lowing sound, pulling at Herah’s coat.

“She wants you to let go,” Mahanon says without looking.

Herah sighs and lets go. Ellana immediately moves over to Athlok and points at his eye, turning back towards Herah and honking.

Herah groans, running a hand over her face, “Does someone between the two of you know what _pretending to behave_ is?”

“Is it the same as a con?”

-

“Malika is going to be okay,” Kaaras says. Edric looks up.

“How did you know that’s what I was worried about?”

“What _else_ would you be worried about, Edric?”

“Hole in the sky, red lyrium, undead Magisters,” Edric begins to list off on his fingers.

“Most of it in relation to your niece,” Kaaras points out. “She’s going to be alright. I know it’s hard - fighting in a war is different than fighting for your life.”

“I wish the world was a little softer is all,” Edric says. “It would have been nice if she were older, more prepared for this. I’m not dumb enough to say _if she never had to go through with this at all_.”

“You’re a good parent.”

Edric gives Kaaras a funny look. Kaaras shrugs, rubbing the back of his neck.

“I mean, you look out for her and all. I just thought that you’re - you’re a good guardian, is all. No offense or anything.”

“None taken,” Edric says, “If you don’t mind me asking - what do your parents think of all this?”

“My parents were Qun,” Kaaras replies, folding his hands together and tapping his toes on the cool sand, “Not soldiers, mind. Workers. My father was a laborer. My mother was a baker. They don’t really understand me, but they’ve done their best to do right by me. Just like you do with Malika. My parents don’t understand the Inquisition and all the things it’s doing. They understand that there is a problem and that we are trying to fix it, they just don’t understand all the other parts that go along with it. Qun mentality and all. They don’t really want to know, either. As long as I’m alive, I think, they’re content.”

“Sounds lonely,” Edric says.

“I have Herah. She helps,” Kaaras shrugs. “Herah and I grew up together, but she lived under the Qun before Athlok took her away. She understands more of it than I ever will. She helps bridge things sometimes.”

“She really isn’t your sister?” Edric says.

Kaaras shakes his head, “No. None of us know who her parents are. Athlok took her as a favor to a Tamassaran when Herah was eight.”

“You kids,” Edric groans. “Lavellans and their weird elf marriage magic shit, Malika and this damn war, you two and the Qun cross culture thing, the _Trevelyans and everything they are_. You kids are going to kill me. Come on, let’s go find the others. You look like you’re mopey now and I’m mopey and we’re going to fix this because I’m too old to be dealing with all of this drama by myself.”

-

“Does having sex with my brother feel good?”

Kaaras’ eyes fly open and he yelps, rolling and falling off the bed with a loud _thump_. Kaaras groans - his horns tinge with the impact. He cracks an eye open and Ellana stares down at him from where she’s still on the bed, fingers curled into the bed sheets he pulled down with him.

“Wh- why do you al- always do this when there - there’s no one around to corro- corroborate with me?”

Mahanon’s probably gone off to eat an early breakfast and Dorian left with the Chargers for a mission in the Approach a few days ago.

“Does having sex with my brother feel good?” Ellana repeats.

“Why do you want to know what having sex with your brother feels like?”

“With a man, in general,” Ellana shrugs. “Fine, what’s having sex with Dorian feel like?”

Kaaras groans and tries to pull the blankets he took with him when he fell over his face. Ellana calmly reaches down and pulls them from his hands with that reality defying strength of hers.

“What are you doing?” Kaaras looks up to see Mahanon closing the door to their room, an apple in hand.

“Your sister asked me what having sex with a man is like and I’m frightened,” Kaaras says at the same time Ellana asks, “Mahanon, what does sex Kaaras feel like?”

Mahanon looks from Ellana to Kaaras, then back to Ellana.

“I don’t share.”

“With a man in _general_ ,” Ellana snorts, releasing the blankets, apparently now that Mahanon is here she’s content to let Kaaras smother himself in embarassment.

“Why?” Mahanon narrows his eyes, “You’ve never cared to ask before.”

“The Iron Bull asked me to consider having sex with him,” Ellana says.

Kaaras thinks he chokes on his own air. He hears Mahanon drop his apple.

“ _He what?_ ” Mahanon repeats, sounding as dumbfounded as Kaaras feels.

“You heard me,” Ellana says. Kaaras sits up, quickly untangling himself from the blankets because he has a pretty solid idea of where this conversation is going to go. “And I told him I’d think about it, but I’ve never thought about this before so I want to ask advice from someone who has had sex with a man before.”

Kaaras just barely manages to catch Mahanon around the waist before Mahanon flies out of the room.

“You cannot assassinate the Iron Bull,” Kaaras says, “People would notice.”

Mahanon hisses.

Ellana also hisses.

Kaaras is in between two hissing elves and he hasn’t had breakfast yet.

Mahanon sighs and goes limp. Kaaras waits a little to see if it’s a feint and then carries him back towards the bed and sets him down next to his sister.

Mahanon turns to face her, “Neither of us can answer you because men have sex differently from women. Go ask a woman who’s had sex with a man.”

Ellana wrinkles her nose, “But we might die before Evelyn gets that far with Cullen.”


	25. Chapter 25

The two elves look like they’re caught in an stare off. Varric isn’t exactly sure who’s winning, exactly.

“It would probably help if you didn’t look mad all the time, Mystery Man,” Varric says. “And, Chuckles, would it kill you to look less judgmental?”

“I can’t help how I look,” Lavellan responds. Solas raises an eyebrow.

“Forgive me, Varric, but my experiences with the Dalish as a whole haven’t been overly good. Perhaps today might be the day where, _yes_ it does kill me.”

“Are you actually that angry, though?” Varric says to Lavellan.

“At some level, yes, I am always angry,” Lavellan says. The stare off presumably ends because Solas steps aside and Lavellan gives him a wide berth as he enters the hut to put down his small pack of stuff.

“How angry are you right now?” Varric asks. Lavellan’s response is a grunt.

“Charming fellow, isn’t he?” Solas says giving a sardonic smile, “Is it because I’m the only other foreign elf in this village?”

“Sort of,” Varric says, “He insisted on a place where he could have a view of the forest.”

Solas’ eyebrows raise up. “He wanted a view.”

Varric raises his hands. “They wouldn’t let him camp at the tree line. Too suspicious, I guess. I think they want to keep an eye on him.”

“I understand wanting to be away and close to an escape route,” Solas says, “But a _view_?”

“You’d have to ask him about it. Should I leave you two to it? If I come back to visit will there only be one of you around and a suspicious mound of freshly turned dirt?”

Solas hums.

“That was meant to be an exaggeration.”

“Art imitates reality, and such.”

-

“Hey, we’re back,” Bull says, “What’s up? Sera said you needed to talk to me. Something wrong, Boss?”

Evelyn looks up at him. “Bull.”

He tilts his head, “Yeah? You alright? You look worried. More so than usual. Something happen while we were on assignment? As an aside - we found dragon tracks. I’m pretty sure if you don’t go for it that herah’s going to grab some guys and go herself.”

“ _Another one_?” Evelyn shakes her head, “No, wait. That’s not what - don’t distract me. Bull, something has come to light that I need your help with.”

“Alright,” Bull sits down across from her, resting his arms on the table and giving her his full attention.

Before Evelyn can even start thinking about how to ask him if he’s seen Ellana in a courtship with anyone, the woman darts in through a nearby open window, looking around before darting over to them.

Ellana curls a hand around one of the leather straps that goes around Bull’s chest and tugs.

“Can it wait?” Bull says turning to her, “The Boss is trying to talk to me about something.”

Ellana continues to tug.

“It’s about Ellana, actually,” Evelyn says nervously picking at a hangnail. It’s a terrible habit that she’s gotten back into recently. She thought her tutors had beaten it out of her, but it turns out that she just wasn’t stressed enough for it to rear its head.

Ellana groans and hits her head against Bull’s shoulder.

Bull’s eyebrows raise.

Ellana leans in close to him and whispers something in his ear. Bull’s eyebrows raise further and he turns to look at her, “Well shit, kadan. Didn’t think that would happen. Sorry, I guess.”

Bull turns to Evelyn, “It’s me. The guy you’re looking for is me. I should’ve been more careful; I didn’t think it’d be that big a deal.”

Ellana sits next to the Iron Bull and rests her cheek on her hand - the other hand still loosely curled into the leather strap, “I said yes; I don’t mind.”

Evelyn stares at Ellana. Ellana slowly sticks the tip of her tongue out.

“I mean, now I know you _can_ talk,” Evelyn says, “But somehow I still don't expect it.”

Ellana blows a raspberry and then puts her head down on the table, making small burbling noises.

“So,” Bull says, “Anything else you wanted to talk about, boss? Because if we’re talking about relationships I’ve got a bet going with the others about when you and Cullen are finally going to - “

“Okay, we’re done here, go rest up, Bull. You can report in later,” Evelyn quickly stands up, “I’m going to go uh. I’m just going to go now.”

-

“Is your uncle okay?” Dorian asks, “He’s been - well. He’s been quiet. I know that seems like an odd thing to say, but he’s been quiet.”

“It’s just getting close to the death anniversary of some important people,” Malika answers, quickly finishing off tying some rope to secure supplies meant for the Approach to the cart. Malika rests her hand on the canvas that covers the crates of materials. “He’ll be alright, he just - he just gets really nostalgic around this time. I think he and I are probably going to go out when the day gets here. Not far, probably just away.”

“May I ask who’s death?” Dorian says.

“His wife,” Malika says, and then carefully, “And their husband.”

Dorian blinks, raising a finger and makes a quick diagram in the air, as if to sketch out the schematics of that relationship.

“They were really nice,” Malika says, “They died about twelve years back. I was seven or eight when it happened. But I still remember them. They were really nice people. Uncle Brom always made me a cake whenever I visited. His cakes were the best. Aunt Isolde would always say that he was trying to make me into a ball.”

“I’m sorry for the loss,” Dorian says, “They sound like warm people.”

“They were,” Malika nods, “Uncle Edric hasn’t really been the same since they died. I mean, it’s not like he’s totally different or anything. He’s just more tired, I guess.”

“The loss of a loved one, no matter how far past, is something that always drains part of you a little gray,” Dorian says.

“I’m sorry about Felix,” Malika takes Dorian’s hand, “His dad was a complete reckless asshole. But I can kind of understand. Felix was brave. He sounds warm, too.”

“Thank you,” Dorian squeezes her hand. “The world is a little colder without them, but we go on.”


	26. Chapter 26

"How like a Qunari brute,” The Venatori sneers, “Such base antics.”

Herah’s eyebrows slowly raise and she turns to look at Malika who shrugs. Herah turns back to the bound captive.

“I think you’ve got something wrong here. I’m the _boss_ of this situation. I’m not going to make you talk if you don’t want to say anything to me. That’s not my job.”

The Venatori looks to Malika who just stares back at him before waving her empty hands, “I don’t know why you’re looking at me. I’m the brains. I just made the plans to ambush this camp without alerts.”

He leans around them to look at where Maxwell is finishing up picking pockets.

“That’s the beauty,” Herah says, “And frankly that’s all he’s got so he’s lucky he looks decent. Nah, the one who’s going to make you talk is her.”

Herah jabs her thumb over her shoulder at Ellana who’s been quietly staring at the moons, sitting on top of a completely trashed slaver’s cage.

“Pearl,” Malika calls out, “Can we borrow you for a second?”

Ellana turns to look at them, eyes flashing in the dark as she climbs down and meanders over to them.

“Ah, the mage,” The Venatori sneers, “The simple one.”

Ellana looks at Herah. Herah’s smile gleams in the darkness, brighter than any knife or arrow in her arsenal.

“The _brawn_ ,” She corrects. “Ellana.”

Ellana walks over to one of the caravans, putting one hand on the back she lifts the back half off the ground and above her head.

“She’s not very talkative, and granted she isn’t really one for fighting,” Herah says as the Venatori stares. The rest of them have long gotten used to Ellana’s eccentricities and hidden talents. Given that Ellana’s preferred body is that of a giant bear, it’s no longer surprising that she’s impossibly heavy at times and that she can lift things beyond her size. “But damn, can that girl _lift_.”

“And you know, things that go up,” Malika says. Ellana drops the cart with a loud _crash_. “They go back down, too.”

Herah slowly kneels to bring herself down to the Venatori’s eye level.

“And trust me when I say that there are a lot of things we can bring down on you, and a lot of things that you can stand to lose, until you talk. I’m thinking that we start with that anvil over there. All things considered? You don’t need your feet to talk. Hey, Malika, how much force do you think Ellana could make if she threw that anvil down at full strength from, say, the top of that outcropping?”

“She might miss and hit something else,” Malika says, “But I figure, roughtly, _a lot.”_

 _“_ Don’t be ridiculous,” Maxwell says walking over to them, “Ellana doesn’t _miss_.”

-

“We did all of this for a flower crown?” Kaaras looks incredulous, “When Herah and Maxwell hear about this they will cry with laughter, or just cry. Do you know how many bears they had to fight off to collect all those offerings for that first tiny cave, Malika? I’m almost entirely certain the only reason they didn’t try to throttle you for that was because they were too tired.”

“A _magic_ flower crown,” Malika corrects.

Kaaras looks even more baffled. “A magic flower crown. Is it demons?”

“What is with all of you and automatically thinking _demons_?” Malika frowns, “That’s a radical jump to make, don’t you think, Ellana?”

They both turn to look at Ellana who’s lying down next to the entrance of the secret tunnel. She groans and puts an arm over her eyes.

“She didn’t like the stairs,” Kaaras guesses.

“She didn’t like the stairs,” Malika confirms. “But she was a good sport about lighting all those torches for me anyway. You should’ve come, Kaaras.”

“Someone had to report that the two of you died at the bottom of a suspicious tunnel to the Inquisition,” Kaaras replies, “Alright, show me this - erm - _magic_ flower crown.”

Malika pulls her backpack off and brings it out.

Kaaras stares at it. “It’s not that impressive.”

“It’s _magic_ ,” Malika replies, offended, “You can’t wear it if you’re going to be like that.”

“I don’t want to wear it,” Kaaras says, “Ellana could make a better flower crown than that. And then we could just ask someone else to enchant it, _you had all of us running around Thedas for something we could have made ourselves_.”

“It was a mystery, Kaaras! Tiny caves! Mysterious voices! _Come on_ ,” Malika groans, “Why am I surrounded in such boring people?”

Ellana makes a gurgling sound from where she’s lying down.

“Sorry, Pearl,” Malika apologizes, “Do you want to wear the crown.”

Ellana waves her limp arm, and then raises her arms towards Kaaras and whines.

“I am not carrying you,” Kaaras says, “Your brother keeps getting mad at me for spoiling you. But I’m not, you’re just pushy.”

Ellana sticks out her tongue and continues to hold her arms up.

Kaaras bends down to pick her up. Ellana happily squirms and climbs over him until she’s comfortably settled on his back, chin on his shoulder. Her toes wiggle.

“So what do we do with the crown?” Kaaras asks, one hand holding Ellana’s ankles. “I mean, I know that Maxwell and Sera are going to want a turn at it.”

“We can share it,” Malika replies, “I’ll make a chart. Do you think Mahanon would want in? I mean, he did help get it. Sort of.”

“Laying down cover fire while Maxwell and Herah gathered flowers? I don’t think he’d want to, but maybe he’d say yes just to be contrary. What do you think, Ellana?”

Ellana hoots.

“Alright, we’ll put him down as a maybe,” Malika says. “Wait - Kaaras, where did Athlok and Blackwall go?”

“They didn’t want to stick around so they went back to camp,” Kaaras replies. “I think they thought you wouldn’t find anything.”

“And you didn’t?”

“I was hoping for something that wasn’t your untimely end.”

-


	27. Chapter 27

“Aw, come on, Pearl. Clothes aren't so bad,” Malika says as Ellana lets out a heart breaking yowl, attempting to claw her brother’s face off. The Adaars look on amused, drawn by the noise.

(“Are- Are y- you _hurt- hurting her_?” Kaaras asked, and Mahanon snorted.

“As if anyone were ever hurt by clothing. She’s being a brat,” Mahanon answered.

“Watch out for that south paw,” Herah commented. Mahanon loudly and vivaciously swore, causing Evelyn to pause as she was taking out another one of the horses for Maxwell to take on a run and apologize to a passing Chantry sister.)

“They keep your warm,” Malika continues, waiting for Mahanon to be done so she can attempt to wrangle Ellana’s hair into something less of a wild river. There’s someone _important_ from somewhere coming today and no one can trust Ellana _not_ to be in the worst possible place at the worst possible time so they’re attempting to get her into - at the very least - small clothes.

That plan was abandoned half an hour ago, and now they’re just hoping that a dress will stay on.

“Pearl?” Evelyn asks, coming to lean over the side of the fence closest to their spectacle.

“Doesn't she make you think of one?” Malika says, “Mysterious and dreamy?”

“A nightmare, more like - _nice hit_ ,” Herah says. Mahanon scowls and yanks at Ellana’s arm and shoves it through a sleeve.

“Stop encouraging her,” He snaps.

“You’ll like clothes, they keep your warm,” Malika repeats, “Though I guess that’s not something you worry about - I’ve never seen you shiver. Is that an elf thing? Because Solas doesn’t wear shoes and Mahanon is always so _flowy_.”

Mahanon’s scowl deepens, “I am not _flowy -_ Ellana, so help _me_ \- Creators how are you so damn stubborn?”

Ellana makes a bleating sound that makes it seem like she’s being tortured to death.

Kaaras’ look of concern grows manifold.

“Do all dwarves give nicknames? Is _that_ a dwarf thing?” Maxwell says, finishing leading his horse in its cool down paces, dismounting and bringing it over to the trough.

“Edric, do you have nicknames for people too?” Evelyn asks, turning towards Uncle Edric as he finishes moving another bale of hay. He grunts in affirmation.

“Ulcer two,” He points at Malika. Malika sticks out her tongue. He points at Ellana as she bleats, rolling onto her face and kicking her legs. Mahanon rolls away from her, out of breath. (“ _Finally_.”), “Ulcer three.”

He points at Herah, “Competition.” Herah smirks. “Bad idea.” Mahanon grunts, fingers twitching as he lays on the frozen ground. “Chump mark one,” Maxwell squawks in indignation. “Chump mark two.” Kaaras gives Edric a _look_. “And finally the Normal One.”

Evelyn turns to Maxwell, “As long as it isn’t _chump mark_.”

Ellana squirms over towards Malika, dragging herself up Malika’s body to mash her head against Malika’s shoulder and whines.

“It’s not that bad, Pearl,” Malika repeats, running a hand through Ellana’s hair and wondering where to even start.

Mahanon half-heartedly kicks out in Ellana’s direction. “I hope that dress chokes you to death.”

“You shouldn’t be kicking your sister, Mahanon,” Evelyn says.

  
Mahanon wordlessly flings an arm out and points at Maxwell. Evelyn wrinkles her nose.

“He doesn’t count, he’s my _cousin_. I can kick him as much as I want to.”

“All I had to do was be  your brother to get you to stop your senseless violence?” Maxwell gapes, “In that case I’ve considered you my favorite younger sister for _years_ \- ow!”

“Nice kick,” Herah says.

“I’ve had practice.”

-

“Puppy!” Maxwell gasps, rushing towards the _thing_ that Herah, Kaaras, and Malika found poking around one of the Inquisition food traps.

“That’s not a puppy,” Herah says. “Trevelyan, _that’s not a puppy_.”

Maxwell coos, practically skidding onto his knees as he takes the _thing’s_ face in his hands and starts to babble at it as if it were an infant.

Herah turns to Kaaras, “Why do humans act like this?”

Kaaras raises his hands in complete bafflement. “Why do you ask me? I was raised in human lands but I still have horns, Herah. Humans are _weird_.”

“I don’t know why you think _I’d_ be able to identify the breed of a dog,” They hear Mahanon’s voice drawing closer. “Shouldn’t you ask Evelyn? She was raised around books and money and things. Wouldn’t she know about this better? Just because I was born and raised in the middle of the woods doesn’t mean I automatically know the name of every beast that -   _that’s not a dog, Malika_.”

Malika releases Mahanon’s hand, “Then what is it? How can you not know? Isn’t that kind of your thing, mister expert hunter?”

Mahanon stares, “Why is he calling that a puppy? That isn’t a dog. And no dog’s pups would be that large. Is he intoxicated?”

“ _Puppy!_ ” They hear in the distance and Evelyn comes bursting through the brush a few moments later, also falling over herself as she collides into Maxwell and starts to coo over the animal.

Ellana meanders in from the direction Evelyn came from a few moments later, pauses, points at them and turns to look at the rest of them, looking just as baffled as the rest of them for once, as if to say _why?_

“Ellana,” Eric calls out to her, finally looking up from where he’s been hitting his head against a tree for the past five minutes upon stumbling upon them while he was out looking for firewood, “You’re our resident animal charmer. What is that thing?”

Ellana turns to look at him, then curls her hands and raises them into the air and bares her teeth.

“Translate,” Edric says to Mahanon. Mahanon gives him an annoyed look.

“Well _obviously_ it’s a - “ Mahanon also bares his teeth. Herah hits him upside the head. He rolls his eyes. “It’s a - “

“ _Bear!_ ” Everyone turns and sees Blackwall and Sera running through the brush, “ _Bear!_ ”

“Shit,” Edric says.

“She told you,” Mahanon says at the same time Ellana lets out an annoyed and sullen sounding sigh.

“So, not a puppy?” Malika asks as Herah walks around her to physically pry the two Trevelyans from the bear cub.

“Nope,” Herah says, “Definitely not a puppy. Seriously, how did humans survive this long? Four legs and fur doesn’t always mean _dog_. You two aren’t even from Ferelden!”


	28. Chapter 28

“Listen, Evelyn. Please,” Edric gasps for breath, “You’ve got a problem. A serious problem. I need you to get it checked out. I’m begging you, here. I’d get on my hands and knees if I thought I’d be able to get back up again. _Please_.”

“Look, Edric,” Evelyn leans heavily on her staff, knees threatening to give way any moment. Dagna will most likely be very displeased about how much Evelyn leans on her staff and how it dulls the blade at the end, but Dagna will probably be more pleased about the fact that Evelyn isn’t dead. “It’s a sensitive topic and I promise you I wish I knew how to fix it just as much as you do.”

Cassandra stomps up the grassy slope behind them, only slightly winded and red in the face, “Dragons. Darkspawn. Mercenaries. Venatori. Red Templars. Demons. Malificar. Abominations. We have fought all of these things and more and _bears_ are still a challenge.”

“Edric’s right, boss,” Bull says, “You’ve got a problem and I think you need to see someone about it.”

“You’d think that since you’re mauled by a bear all the time you’d be used to it,” Sera says. Bull lets out a slightly annoyed sigh.

“For the last time, Sera. We aren’t like that.”

“Let me guess,” Sera mocks, “It’s complicated.”

“No,” Bull replies walking past her to sit down on a rock and adjust his ankle brace, “It’s simple. We had sex once. We both decided not to do it again. We’re happy about it.”

“At any rate,” Evelyn says, slowly leaning back and tilting her face up, “Ignoring Bull and Ellana’s relationship since it’s none of our business and doesn’t really pertain to anything concerning this particular moment in time, anyone see any bears around? Are we clear?”

Cassandra grunts and drops onto the rock next to the Iron Bull, gratefully taking the water skein he offers her.

“Demons,” Cassandra says.

“Yeah, we know,” Edric says, “We’ve fought demons and we’ve got that shit down. Bears are weird. Bears are vicious. Bears come from _nature_.”

“No,” Cassandra jerks her thumb over her shoulder as she takes a swig of water, “There are demons in that direction and coming closer. We are not clear.”

Everyone groans.

“You know what,” Evelyn says, “I’lll take it. I’ll take the demons over the bears any day. Let’s go. Demons it is. Excelsior.”

-

“Why is it it always you three?” Cullen sighs, “And why does it always fall to me to reprimand you? One of you isn’t even in my jurisdiction.”

“Unfair of you not to count Ellana,” Maxwell says.

“Ellana doesn’t do anything, she just follows people and watches things apart catastrophically,” Cullen says.

Ellana sticks her tongue out at Maxwell.”

“He’s a Trevelyan,” Herah points, “I thought we understood that they all have shitty luck.”

“Don’t pin this on me,” Maxwell says, “You traitor.”

“How come you aren’t chewing them out?” Malika asks, pointing at the other group.

“They haven’t done anything wrong,” Cullen answers.

“It’s called _stealth_ ,” Mahanon leans against Kaaras, “Which apparently you three don’t have.”

“Why are they even here, then?” Maxwell asks.

“Mostly to laugh,” Mahanon shrugs.

“Moral support?” Kaaras suggests.

“No, I’m here to laugh,” Edric says, “I need it.”

“Could you try being a bit more like them?” Cullen asks, “I never get the kind of reports or incidents you seem to run into from them. Their longest report was half a page long.”

“We make your life interesting at least,” Malika says.

“Listen, Rutherford,” Herah points a finger at him, “I respect you. But I dislike that tone of voice. It suggests that somehow _he_ ,” She points at Kaaras, “Is doing better than me. Wrong. I am his superior in every possible way. Take it back. Also, look at what I have to work with. Maxwell Trevelyan. I’m practically working with an arm tied to an infant here.”

“Who made you like this?” Maxwell waves an arm, “ _Who?_ ”

“That’s a little bit of an exaggeration,” Malika says, “Maybe a toddler who’s had too much caramel?”

“On all sides!” Maxwell throws his arms up, “Ellana, my darling, give me strength.”

“Don’t do it,” Mahanon says, “Leave him to suffer.”

“No one asked you.”

Ellana looks between Mahanon and Maxwell before sitting down on the floor and covering her eyes with her hands.

“Just,” Cullen raises his hands to bring attention back to himself and to stop anyone from arguing further, “Just. Please. Someone explain to me how, exactly, you broke into a Venatori encampment and _got caught on your way out surrounded in wasps_.”

-

“You said we are now friends,” Evelyn doesn’t quite _scream_ when a voice suddenly speaks in her ear but she does jerk her elbow backwards.

“ _Mahanon_ ,” She wheezes. Mahanon raises an eyebrow a her, having neatly dodged her reaction.

Maxwell repeats, “ _Mahanon?_ You have a first name? _It wasn’t Lavellan_?”

“Maxwell you’ve been here and conscious longer than I have, I’d think you’d know his name first,” Evelyn says, “And yes, Mahanon. We’re friends, now. Why?”

Mahanon reaches around her and picks up her wooden bowl of stew and wordlessly empties it out the window.

He looks at her, “Friends don’t let friends die because they make stupid decisions. That will give you a very serious case of stomach cramps. I know because I saw the meat they were cooking before it was cooked. It was miserable and happy to be killed.”

Mahanon gently lowers a small cloth sack onto the table in front of her.

“They don’t trust me near their food unless I’m killing it for them,” He says as Evelyn opens the sack and finds _eggs_. Honest to the Maker _eggs_. Evelyn gapes. She turns to look at him. He raises an eyebrow. “I’m not giving you all of them, they just won’t let me near the kitchens to cook them myself and everyone gets _suspicious_ when I start doing things on my own. I’ll give you half if you can get them cooked safely. I don’t trust half the staff.”

“That’s a little unfair to them,” Evelyn says, “They aren’t poisoning people on purpose. They work with what they have.”

“They haven’t slept or washed in over three days,” Mahanon replies, “It’s unfair to all of us, including them. Can you get them cooked by someone who isn’t hallucinating due to lack of sleep and isn’t crawling with parasites?”

“Can you share them with your favorite cousin?” Maxwell buts in. Both of them ignore him.

“I’ll do it myself if I have to,” Evelyn says, “If anything, people are slightly less inclined to be suspicious of me. Thank you.”


	29. Chapter 29

“It doesn’t taste _bad_ , it just tastes strange,” Evelyn says, taking another tentative sip from the mug the Iron Bull handed to her. “Remind me where you got it?”

“Asked Varric to pull some strings,” Bull replies.

“Thank you for pulling strings, Varric,” Kaaras says, sighing, “Mom and Dad always missed this part of the Qun. Do you think you could pull some more strings so I could send some back to them?”

“Maybe, that stuff is hard to get,” Varric says.

“Cocoa powder,” Dorian hums, “I personally prefer mine with cinnamon sticks instead of guimauves.”

“Ellana, have you tried this?” Evelyn calls out. Bull wordlessly holds out his mug in Ellana’s direction. Ellana towards them, away from where she’d been trying to pester Flyssa into giving her some salted fish. Ellana looks at the mug as if it gave her a deep insulted and then moves to put Flyssa between herself and the mug, making a hissing noise.

“I offered Mahanon a taste earlier and after smelling it he gave me the exact same look,” Kaaras comments, “He thinks it’s too sweet.”

“It’s creamy,” Malika says, “Can I get some more? I’m going to get some more. Does anyone else want more? Thanks for sharing, the Iron Bull.”

“Anything in the name of broadening your cultural horizons,” He replies, “But also you better not finish that because I paid a lot of coin for it and personally I’m waiting for Stitches to check our books and have a stroke before fixing himself up and coming over here to repeat the experience in my face, and I want to have something to drink while I watch that happen.”

“Dorian do you want me to get you cinnamon sticks?” Kaaras asks getting up to follow Malika back into the Herald’s Rest kitchen to where the rest of the cocoa is being kept warm.

“If you would be so kind,” Dorian says then wrinkles his nose as the Iron Bull drops a few more guimauves into his mug, “I don’t know how you eat those things.”

Bull makes a point of slurping his cocoa while maintaining eye contact.

“It’s just _sugar_ ,” Dorian says.

“the guimauves?” Evelyn asks, “I think they go well with the cocoa. How much _did_ all of this cost, anyway? Do you think I could convince Josephine that we need to keep stock on it?”

-

Blackwall throws his arm out and stops Herah from walking in time for a pale vaguely persons shaped blur to _literally_ fly by and land with a yelp into a stack of hay.

“ _Ellana_?” Herah runs towards the stack of hay and Ellana sticks her arm out, giving a thumbs up.

“What the hell?” Blackwall looks in the direction she came from then yells, “Adaar — _dodge_.”

Herah jumps back in time to miss Malika being thrown into the same stack of hay onto Ellana. Ellana grunts but gamely fights her way out, dragging Malika out and up in one arm.

Malika is red faced and laughing, “That was _fun_. Let’s do it again.”

“What was that?” Herah says, “And do I have to dodge anymore people?”

“Maxwell said no,” Malika says, “So probably not. We’re testing the trebuchets.”

Herah pinches the bridge of her nose.

“Chargers,” Blackwall says, and Herah looks in the direction the two came from and sees Krem waving from the top of the wall.

“I thought you were approved for stuffed nugs,” She yells as she walks towards them.

“We’ve moved on to human trials,” Dagna replies, appearing next to Krem and waving down. “How was it?”

  
“Amazing!” Malika yells back, jumping down from Ellana’s arm and pushing past Herah and Blackwall to run up the stairs. “Let’s do that again.”

“If you missed,” Blackwall says, “The mess would have been fucking awful.”

“I don’t miss,” Dagna replies, “Besides, between me and Ellana? Our numbers are _flawless_. Also Evelyn was trying this earlier and she did fine.”

Herah blanches, “You had the _Inquisitor of Thedas_ on that? _And you flung her into a wall_?”

“A stack of hay with a magical force barrier conjured by Kaaras,” Dagna says. “It was awesome.”

“I don’t even know where to start,” Herah says and then shrugs, “Good thing I’m not Cullen. _I don’t have to_. Can I get in on this?”

-

“Another one? Tell me no one’s told Evelyn,” Sera says, “One of the drooling lizards is bad enough. Now we have a fucking rainbow of them. Who even brought them here?”

“Tell me no one’s told Bull,” Cassandra says, “Or the Lavellans. Or _the Adaar_. Maker, let no one have told the Adaar until I’ve gotten my horse to safety.”

“That group has a truly unhealthy fondness for dragons,” Edric says, “Literally unhealthy in that it _isn’t healthy because it leads us into danger at all times_. It is reducing our overall health as a group and organization. Someone should take that up with the Ambassador or the Commander.”

“Evelyn’s luck is shit at all times and no one is surprised,” Sera says, “And this wood building is going to burn down.”

“Maybe that will finally be what takes the bog unicorn with it,” Cassandra mutters darkly, “And then we can finally be rid of the _smell_.”

“You know you like Charlemagne. He kind of grows on you. Like mold. Or fungus,” Edric says, “Besides. She makes Maxwell smile.”

Cassandra gives Edric a look, “It should be put out of its misery.”

“And let the rest of us breathe,” Sera chimes in, “Free up stall space for a normal horse. No more of this,” She waves her hand at the rest of the stables, “Nonsense shit parade they’ve got going here.”

“You don’t even like mounts I don’t know why you’re here,” Edric says.

“Blackwall told me there was new shit, I had to see,” Sera says.

They faintly hear a high screech from outside.

“Is that Evelyn or Bull, you think?” Edric asks.

“We’re about to find out,” Cassandra turns to inspect her own horse, “Dennet, I’m moving mine outside. Just in case. I’d rather she didn’t die in her sleep.”


	30. Chapter 30

“Maxwell, you can’t die,” Evelyn says, squeezing Maxwell’s hand as the healers hurry to get things ready about them, “If you die your mother will start crying and - “

“Don’t be ridiculous, Evelyn, mother can’t cry. There isn’t any water left in her body with all that fiery hatred of everything that isn’t Andrastian and rich,” Maxwell wheezes. Evelyn squeezes his hand tighter.

“ - and I’d have to publicly denounce and tear down half of the Trevelyans using all my authority as the Inquisitor and it wouldn’t be pretty, Maxwell. It would be petty of me and entirely unfair.”

“Ah yes, the two things you aren’t,” Maxwell groans, squinting.

“ _Maxwell_ ,” Cassandra rushes in, hesitating for a moment when she sees Evelyn, but moving on to stand on the other side of the medical cot. She glances at Evelyn before firmly taking Maxwell’s hand in her own. “Maxwell - what happened to you?”

“Don’t look so dour, Cassandra,” Maxwell gives her a weak grin, “You’re too wondrous to be making that face over me. It gives a man something of an ego, please don’t lead me on.”

“Internal bleeding,” Evelyn answers.

“You’re all being dramatic, that’s where all the blood is supposed to be, isn’t it? Inside?” Maxwell’s breathing gets shallow and he coughs. “Makes clean up easier, no?”

“This isn’t the time for you to be _glib, Maxwell_ ,” Cassandra says.

“Please for once just shut up and _don’t die_ ,” Evelyn tags on. “You can talk all you want later, I’ll write it down and have Josephine emboss it with an official seal of the Inquisition if you want. I’ll make it a damn decree. _Just don’t die.”_

“Well with terms like that how could I say no?” Maxwell says, but his voice sounds faint and almost all the color has leeched from his skin. “Maker, at least I get to see something beautiful before I go.”

“ _Maxwell_ ,” Cassandra and Evelyn cry out.

“I’m talking about the perfectly constructed wood ceiling, of course. Cassandra take care of Charlemagne, would you? I’m just going to. Gather my thoughts. For a while.”

-

“Josephine had a reason not to tell me,” Herah eventually says, eyes closed and searching - maybe - for that very reason on the back of her eyelids.

“Of course,” Evelyn touches Herah’s knee with her fingertips, “Herah. Are you alright?”

“She must of have had a reason,” Herah repeats, hands curling into tight fists before abruptly releasing. “She’s a noble. I knew something like this was in her future, her life. I didn’t know for sure or the details feeling - she’s the future head of her house. Of course her family had smoothing planned to make sure she's set.”

“What are you going to do?” Dorian asks.

Herah takes in a deep breath and releases it slowly. She straightens up and opens her eyes, seemingly composed; a stark and vast world of difference than how she was about half an hour ago.

“Nothing,” Herah says.

Dorian and Evelyn exchange looks before turning back to Herah.

“Pardon, did you just say _nothing_?” Evelyn asks.

“The woman you love, the woman who loves _you back_ , is engaged to another person and has been keeping this a secret from you and you’re going to do _nothing?”_ Dorian repeats, incredulous.

“She had a reason,” Herah says firmly. “She’ll tell me when she’s ready. If she doesn’t tell me - well. Then we know.” Herah’s voice wavers. “I love her. I trust her. I believe that she loves me - either she is working to take care of this or working to find some solution or working up the courage and strength to tell me - or. Or she doesn’t intend for us to go on long enough for it to be an issue. Either way, Josephine has a reason for what she does and I will not ruin it for her.”

“What if she needs help? What if she doesn’t know how to tell you?” Evelyn says, “Herah, it’s very respectful of you to believe in her like that but _you do know_.”

“Fight for her,” Dorian says suddenly, something hot and flashing in his voice, “You love her, Herah, damn it. _Fight for her_. For _you_. For the two of you.”

Herah looks at him, “Don’t mistake my compliance with acceptance, Dorian. Josephine has never approved of confrontation, physical or otherwise. Whatever is going on she is trying to handle in her way. If I were to burst in where I am unwelcome, fighting as I see fit in contrast to her own preferred method, how can I say that I am fighting for _us_? No. Until Josephine invites me in, this is her struggle. I will wait as long as I am allowed to be with her ready to fight that fight, but not unless she permits it. I will not take that from her.”

-

“The dog chose me,” Malika says with awe in her eyes.

“Does your mother know about this?” Edric asks. “Because I’m not telling her.”

“ _I was chosen_ ,” Malika repeats, voice soft with complete reverence as the mabari licks her fingers. “I think Maxwell and Evelyn were about to die from envy, but _she chose me, Uncle Edric_. I was chosen.”

“Excellent judge of character, dogs,” Blackwall says. “What’s her name?”

“It’s a work in progress,” Malika replies looking down at the young pup, who’s stumpy tail wags in response, “We’ll figure it out. We’ve got to find one that fits. Inspiration strikes when you least expect it.”

“So what do you call her in the mean time?”

“A good girl,” Malika says. The pup’s tail wags harder.

“Are you sure she doesn’t think her name is good girl?” Edric asks.

The pup barks, tongue sticking out of her mouth as she hops excitably.

“Huh,” Malika blinks. “It’s a possibility. And it’s not that bad of a name. I heard the Warden Commander of Ferelden’s dog is named Barkspawn. Good Girl is a much better name than that.”

Good Girl lets out a happy bark, rising up to try and lick at Malika’s face.

“Her name isn’t actually going to be _good girl_ , though, is it?” Blackwall asks.

“We’ll figure it out eventually, right good girl?”


	31. Chapter 31

How is it that they’re a rebel organization working out of the middle of the mountains and everyone - _everyone!_ \- without exception is strangely and fantastically good looking?

Both Lavellans have a sort of cut to their faces and bodies that suggests the tangled and uncatchable nature of dreams; the Trevelyans look every bit of their noble blood and then some; the Cadash look exactly how one images something strong and untamable coming out of the earth to be like. And of course that isn’t even _touching_ the various other members of the Inquisition.

Herah has teased him forever about his initial crush on the Iron Bull but to be fair to him the two _flirted in earnest_ for a while so it isn’t like she _didn’t_ agree with him at the time. ( _Have you seen him?_ ) Also Herah is just - _unfair in every way_. And then there’s Solas who has a touch of that same dream the Lavellans have but with a glaze of winter over it and Vivienne is just _gold and glass towers._ Cullen, Krem, and Cassandra are just - well. _Themselves_ and now there’s -

There’s _Dorian_ and apparently Kaaras’ terrible luck for being surrounded in beautiful people is so strong it’s pulling them in from _Tevinter_ now and Dorian is also so _confident about it all_ like  he knows -

“I know, I know, you’re dazzled and amazed by my wonderful looks but don’t forget to be in awe of my impressive intelligence and witty repertoire,” Dorian’s lips curl up in a smirk and Kaaras coughs, choking on his own tongue.

“I -“ Kaaras wheezes, “I’m sorry. I - I didn’t mean - “

Dorian blinks, smirk gone from his face and that’s even worse, _how does he fix this?_

“I - I just - I’m so sorry - I “ Kaaras’ tongue feels like a dead fish in his mouth and Kaaras almost wishes he was the dead fish instead.

“That was a joke,” Dorian says slowly, “It was a jest. I mean that as in - most people look at me and see _evil Tevinter slaver_ so I just - wait, were you _actually_ thinking that?”

Kaaras wants to _die_. He _welcomes_ the rift at this very moment. Demons, darkspawn, Venatori - _anything_.

Even one of the Lavellans cropping up to scare him (probably on purpose? He thinks Ellana is doing it on purpose. He’s not sure about Mahanon, though).

Dorian’s face lights up in an exact inverse correlation to how much Kaaras wants to _be gone_ right now.

“You think I’m good looking,” Dorian says, smile returning to his face but worse because this isn’t the same smile, this is an honest _happy_ smile and Kaaras is _Kaaras_ and he wasn’t equipped to handle this in any way.

He can feel how hot his skin is.

“You’re adorable,” Dorian laughs, eyes closing as he doubles over, “Andraste above - I didn’t think it was possible for someone so big to be so - _so sweet_. I’m astounded, really. No - no. Don’t look like that, it’s a good thing, I swear. This in no way diminishes my opinion of you, it just raises my opinion higher.”

“You have an opinion of me?” Kaaras sputters out and Dorian stops laughing, but that terribly wonderful smile lingers.

“Doesn’t everyone have an opinion on everything? Evelyn told me about you - self taught Qunari mage. And you even taught yourself theory; and you’re quite good at it. That’s _impressive_. Self taught mages that haven’t gotten themselves ruined are in rare supply. I admire that sort of resilience.” Dorian pauses, concern sliding over his features, “Are you alright? You look - _purple.”_

_-_

Solas is pulled out of sleep by a triggering of his wards. But he senses no danger - someone has left rather than come in.

He sits up, the beginning of morning light hinting at itself through the window.

Lavellan is gone - in a different way than he is usually gone. Lavellan is neat - his things are always put away when he goes. Lavellan’s sleeping roll is still left out, blankets thrown to the side as if in a rush.

Solas rises, curious despite himself - Lavellan is not overtly hostile or unwelcoming, but his cautious around Solas. Though it seems his is cautious around everyone, so Solas doesn’t think it is a personal slight against him. Solas does not blame the young man his caution. He wonders what would make the normally very precise and careful man to leave like that.

He rises, walking out of the hut and looking around. Most are still asleep, though he sees the beginning of activity.

“The lake,” Solas turns and sees Adan. The man nods at him, carrying buckets of water from the well towards his workshop, “The other elf. He bolted towards the lake earlier. Saw some scouts as well. Doesn’t seem like trouble, though.”

“Thank you,” Solas nods back at him and turns to walk towards the frozen lake.

By the time he reaches the bank a small crowd of early wakers has been drawn.

“Solas,” The Seeker nods at him, “Has Lavellan spoken to you of this?”

“Lavellan doesn’t seem to be keen on speaking much at all, what is _this_ you speak of?” Solas asks.

The Commander on the Seeker’s other side wordlessly points ahead.

Solas turns and sees Lavellan and another elf - a woman wrapped in what Solas recognizes as  Mahanon’s fur wrap around her.

“I know not of this woman,” Solas says, and then after a moment of observation, “But I can feel that she is a mage. Judging from the direction she came in - perhaps this is why Lavellan wanted to be close to the tree line?”

The two elves continue to talk - or it seems Lavellan continues to talk. And then the woman lurches forward and slams her head into his. Lavellan’s cry of pain is audible this far away and echoing in the morning silence.

The woman walks around Lavellan towards them. Lavellan follows after her, holding his head and glaring.

The woman walks straight past them and all of the assembled soldiers - weapons drawn - towards Haven.

“Order your people to lower your weapons,” Lavellan says, rubbing his forehead as he trudges towards them, “She is of no harm to you.”

“She just head butted you in the face,” Cassandra says. Lavellan shrugs. “Who is that?”

Solas turns around when he hears a _thump_ and sees the woman has fallen into the snow and has started to burrow into a snow drift, leaving Lavellan’s fur behind.

“She is our clan’s third. Her name is Ellana,” Lavellan scowls as he walks past Solas to collect the fur and wrap it around his shoulders. He then kneels down and tries to drag the woman out of the snow by the ankle. “She is my sister.”


	32. Chapter 32

“Shit,” Evelyn abruptly swears, dropping her head onto the ground. Bull grunts, shifting his weight on his elbows as he searches the enemy camp through the spy glass. “I just realized something.”

“What?” Varric asks.

“Bull, you said Ellana doesn’t like sweets,” Evelyn says.

“Too strong for her, mostly,” Bull says, “Varric, you think you could take out the guys around ten?”

Varric moves his glass to check.

“For the first week and a half of settling in at Skyhold I felt bad that no one was really paying attention to her so I kept giving her pastries,” Evelyn groans.

“This is only bothering you now?” Varric replies, incredulous.

“Oh yeah, I remember,” Bull muses, “She passed them all onto Cole.”

“Cole doesn’t eat,” Evelyn lifts her head, rubbing grass off her forehead.

“He knows how to find the people who’d want to eat,” Bull answers, “I think most of it ended up going to the Adaars.”

Evelyn’s eyebrows raise. “Really?”

“Don’t underestimate a Qunari’s sweet tooth,” Bull says.

“He’s not fooling you on that one, Inquisitor,” Varric agrees, “Qunari sweet tooth isn’t a joke. Do they just starve you all where you come from? Nothing but meat stamped with the words of the Qun or something?”

“Funny,” Bull snorts, offering Evelyn the spyglass. “There just isn’t a need for them. They don’t serve a real purpose and why bother assigning someone just for that? Though the new Arishok brought some back and is trying to use it as a reward system. Not sure if the Tamassarans are entirely behind it, but it’s gaining traction. So? The patrol at your ten?”

“Give me a few more minutes to check their pattern,” Varric says.

“For some reason I don’t imagine any of you having that much of a sweet tooth,” Evelyn says, “Athlok too?”

“Are you kidding?” Bull snorts, “He learned common _just_ so he could learn to make cookies.”

-

“What must it be like, one has to wonder, to have a nice supportive and all around pleasant family,” Maxwell sighs, leaning back in his chair, arms crossed behind his head.

Evelyn sighs as she puts her parent’s letter - several pages that go on for paragraphs without a single punctuation mark or sign of anything positive - back into the envelope. She tosses it onto the table, giving them an annoyed and disgusted look as the thick envelope slides over the other letters. “Must be wonderful.”

“Do tell, Josephine, what _is_ it like to have parents who love and support you unconditionally?” Dorian asks, primly tossing small squares of ripped paper into the fire, looking grimly pleased as he does so. He didn’t even read it.

“You’ve all made me officially concerned,” Edric says as he finishes setting out the tea for the afternoon, “Are there any humans here who have an actual normal family?”

“Josephine,” Everyone says.

Josephine tinges a slight red at her desk but says nothing. There really isn’t any way to refute it.

“Cullen?” Dorian suggests after giving the question some serious thought.

“Doesn’t count,” Evelyn grumbles, “Because he hasn’t talked to them in actual _years_.”

“A note of bitterness, I’m sensing fair cousin mine?” Maxwell asks.

“I’d like for his family to know that not only is he not dead or being chained to his desk in deplorable conditions to work, but that he’s very much alive and off lyrium and in a relationship,” Evelyn says. “Except every time I sit him down to write a letter he gets nervous within the first sentence and can’t finish.”

“Adorable, really,” Dorian sighs. “Kaaras writes his mother and father once a week. Even when he’s in the field. _Even when we were fresh out of Haven and certain we were going to die_.”

“He’s too good,” Maxwell says, “Truly.”

“I write my sister once a week,” Edric says. “But that’s fear talking.”

“Can you imagine how wonderful we would have turned out if we had parents like Josephine’s?” Maxwell turns towards the Ambassador. “We would be absolute darlings. We wouldn’t be getting back talk from literally every single noble in the world for one thing. Goodness, Evelyn, our parents might even _talk to us_! About things that aren’t the Chant! Or how we’re going to burn for eternity! What a wild fantasy.”

“One can only strive to do better,” Evelyn agrees.

“Does that mean you and the Commander have plans?” Edric asks, “Because I really, _really_ need some coin and there’s this bet that’s been going on for ages about that - “

“Does no one in this entire bloody castle have nothing better to do?” Evelyn groans. “We have a hole in the sky!”

“And just as importantly, a hole in our _hearts_ ,” Maxwell adds on, “That can only be filled by living vicariously through the entirely _classic_ courtship you and your Commander share. Tell me, my dear and most true cousin, does he walk you to your room and kiss you ever so chastely on the back of your hand before wishing you goodnight and walking away like a complete gentleman?”

“Oh, please don’t say yes to that,” Dorian snorts, “There’s only so much I can take and the idea of such a chaste and entirely fantastic relationship like that might make me expire on the spot with the force of the laugh I’d be required to let out in response to that. I’d actually burst. It would be _ugly_ I tell you. Absolutely filthy. You’d be scraping pieces of me off the walls.”

Evelyn crosses her arms and glares at the ceiling. “I don’t have to answer this.”

“That’s a yes,” Edric says, “Varric couldn’t write more trite and overdone cliches than this. Damn amazing is what you two are.”

“I think that’s sweet,” Josephine says, smile in her voice. “Commander Rutherford is a a polite man. I wouldn’t be so embarrassed with such a fine courtship, Inquisitor.”

“You’re one to talk,” Edric rolls his eyes, “If possible you have an even more _cliched_ relationship. Herah’s kissed you _once._ She’s more of a gentleman than Rutherford is and ever could be.”

-


	33. Chapter 33

“What is that?” Cassandra says, and then turns to Solas, “ _What is that_?”

“That,” Solas says, eyebrows raising in faint amusement, “Looks like a herd of deer.”

“I know that,” Cassandra says.

“Forgive me, Cassandra, I wasn’t sure how else to answer your question of _what is that_ ,” Solas says and Cassandra closes her eyes and hopes for patience that has never come.

“Why is there a herd of deer circling around Haven?”

“That I do not know,” Solas says, “Though I could hazard a guess as to what sort of deer they are. Perhaps you ought to ask Ellana, considering she’s leading them?”

Cassandra glares at Solas’s head. He shrugs and turns around to go back into Haven.

Ellana doesn’t talk.

Or at least - she doesn’t talk to _people_.

“Cool,” Cassandra looks down and sees Malika. “Do you think I could ride one?”

“Absolutely not,” Cassandra says, “They’re wild creatures.”

“One of them is chewing on Ellana’s hair,” Malika points out.

There is a doe, indeed, mouthing at the ends of Ellana’s dark hair.

“Are those deer?”

Both of them turn. Evelyn and Cullen walk out of Haven’s gates looking as baffled as Cassandra feels. Cassandra thinks that this is an appropriate reaction rather than _can I ride it_.

“Yes,” Malika says, “Evelyn do you think I could ride one?”

Evelyn turns that baffled look onto Malika, “ _They’re wild animals_.”

Cassandra’s opinion of the woman goes up instantly.

“But Ellana has them eating out of her hands, look,” Malika points.

“Ellana’s Dalish,” Evelyn says.

“What’s that got to do with anything?” Malika waves a hand, “Maybe if I asked her she’d ask them to let me try.”

“Should I get her brother?” Cullen asks, “Or should I tell Dennet to increase his requisitions?”

“We aren’t keeping them,” Evelyn turns to Cullen, “Dennet is a horse master for one thing, and _they’re wild animals_. Cassandra, tell me the Inquisition isn’t about to take on a herd of deer in their stables. What if they have _diseases_? _Fleas?_ ”

All are very valid concerns. Cassandra’s opinion of her ticks even higher.

Before Cassandra can answer Cullen lets out a small laugh.

“I think you’re underestimating Ellana. Has anyone told the _deer_ that they aren’t keeping _her_?” Cullen says and nods his head in the direction the herd was moving.

The deer have formed a ring around her. It looks entirely eerie. All of the deer suddenly turn to stare at them at once, ears pricked and totally silent in a completely synchronized movement.

Ellana waves.

Evelyn weakly waves back.

“The Inquisition is keeping the deer,” Evelyn says faintly.

“The Inquisition is keeping the deer,” Cullen confirms, laugh behind his voice.

Cassandra groans.

-

“It’s a shame it wasn’t Adaar,” Vivienne says apropos of nothing and Josephine pauses in the middle of pouring another cup of tea.

“Pardon?”

“It’s a shame that the one with the mark isn’t Adaar,” Vivienne repeats, “Evelyn’s done impressively well, don’t get me wrong my dear, but sometimes I consider how much more effective we could possibly be with Herah leading the charge and I feel a touch of regret.”

“ _Madame de Fer_ ,” Josephine exclaims, for lack of a better response.

Vivienne turns and raises an eyebrow at her, “Herah Adaar has not only the charisma and certainty of a leader but also the cunning and foresight of any diplomat and politician. Evelyn has her noble upbringing and of course she’s had training in diplomacy and politics - what Circle mage doesn’t? - but Herah has a certain quality to her that positively cries out to others and draws them in. It’s what draws you to her, is it not?”

“Herah would deny leader ship,” Josephine says, “She dislikes it.”

“Ah, but that’s with an alternative. If it were Herah with the mark, if it were Herah who was thought to be Herald, she would take the reigns without a glance backwards. Don’t tell me she wouldn’t.”

Josephine says nothing because as much as Herah hates to lead, _she would_. If there was no one else, if Herah were the only one capable - _she would do it_. And she would hate it the entire time.

“Of course, it’s a down side that she’s Qunari, but that doesn’t seem to be stopping her from being a rising star in the Inquisition,” Vivienne says.

“With all due respect, Madame de Fer,” Josephine says, “While it is true that Herah is an excellent leader in her own right, I would prefer Evelyn. There is a sympathy and empathy that Evelyn has that makes her invaluable as a leader - Herah possesses those qualities of course, but in Evelyn there is a deeper sense of connection to them.”

“She is absurdly forgiving,” Vivienne muses and then gives Josephine a considering look. “If Herah were the Inquisitor, you two would be able to be together. In the open. The rank of Inquisitor is far higher than that of mere soldier.”

“I wouldn’t want that,” Josephine says, “Because she would be unhappy. I would never wish what I want over her happiness.”

-

“Amazing, you _know_ the Inquisitor,” The boy says and Edric grunts.

“She’s not that impressive,” Edric shrugs. Really, once one’s seen Evelyn trying to fumble her way through waking up it’s hard to think of her as anything overly impressive. Her eyes don’t even _open_. “But yeah, sure, I know her. Sutherland, right?”

“Ah, yes,” The boy says, “Donal Sutherland. Do you know how I would get a message to her worship?”

“What _sort_ of message?” Edric asks, because if he has to listen to one more message of love, devotion, and eternal gratitude he might actually be sick on the floor and Flyssa would make him clean it with his own tongue.

“Bandits, ser,” Sutherland says, all seriousness, “They’ve been stalking the Inquisition’s patrols.”

Edric raises his eyebrows, “And how do you know this?”

“I’ve seen them, ser. I just - I just can’t do anything about it, is all,” Sutherland answers, a curl of embarrassment in his voice. Edric gives him a second look.

“And they haven’t seen _you_?”

“No, ser. Uh. Not that I can tell.”

Sutherland looks like he wants to start fidgeting.

“You,” Edric says, “Stay here. Anyone asks you what business say you’re with me. I’m going to inform the Inquisitor. And if any weird elves show up don’t feed them. Her. Don’t feed her. She’s been trying to sucker people into giving her food like she’s a starving animal.”


	34. Chapter 34

“You do not understand, I should be with her,” Mahanon says, pacing. Evelyn catches his arm on his next pass.

“We can handle it,” Evelyn says, “You need to rest. You trusted the Adaar and Bull with her.”

“Even at her strongest Ellana would have some trouble against four fully grown Qunari, one of which is a mage,” Mahanon replies. “Now she is in stone walls and surrounded by people who know nothing of her or how to defend themselves.”

“We know Ellana,” Evelyn says and Mahanon’s laugh is cutting.

“You know a stranger. Ellana - _my_ Ellana - you have never met. You could never understand - the woman you know as Ellana is half a stranger, always half a stranger no matter how hard the two of us try and try and _fail,”_ Mahanon’s voice is acid, bubbling and frail and brilliant, “From the very beginning you did not know her. Only the pieces that have survived the past decade or so of being _this_.”

Evelyn struggles to put the pieces together, “How can we know if you don’t tell us anything? We’re _friends_. Let us help you.”

“Did you expect me to tell an entire town of religious shemlen _warriors_ half of whom are Templars the nature of my sister’s eccentricities and mental gaps?” Mahanon snorts, pulling his arm from her hand. He’s curled up into himself, stiff and electric with nerves. Her heart pulls and sinks at the darkness underneath his bright, anxious eyes.

“We’re friends _now_ ,” Evelyn says. “Mahanon, we’re _friends_. At least - you and I are.”

Mahanon hesitates, steam and sparks of nervous energy leaving him with bubbling acid.

“Aren’t we?”

“You wouldn’t understand,” Mahanon says softer, “When you first saw her - that was not _this_. That was _doe_. The skin of the doe is _easy_.”

“Explain it to me,” Evelyn says stepping closer to him, taking his hands in hers. “Please. Let me do what I can.”

Mahanon’s eyes meet hers for a moment before looking away.

“If her role and mine were reversed this would not be a problem,” His voice softens, cracks, splinters. “She was always far better with words than I.”

“Tell me like how she would,” Evelyn squeezes his cold hands in hers. “You say it all the time, no one knows her like you. The two have you have been together her whole life. Explain it as she would.”

Mahanon closes his eyes and then pulls one of his hands out of hers, eyes raising as he tugs at the collar of her coat.

“This,” He says carefully, “The skin of the doe is this. This coat - you do not wear it all the time. To sleep. On travels. At Halamshiral. You took it off for another skin. A better one.”

“A different coat for a different purpose?” Evelyn guesses. Mahanon nods.

“The doe is easy for her to take on and off. It does not touch her as deeply. It does not fit her so well. The doe is close to her, but at its core opposite of her nature. She can recover from doe. It takes less out of her.”

“And it’s different with bear?” Evelyn asks.

Mahanon’s hand squeezes hers and he nods.

“How different? Under shirt? Breast band? Armor?” He shakes his head, eyes meeting hers - desperate, pained, drowning.

“How do you take off your own skin?”

-

“Friends don’t let friends make stupid decisions without first giving them forewarning.”

Evelyn startles, and swears.

“Friends,” Evelyn breathes out, “Don’t try to murder their friends by giving them heart attacks.”

Mahanon raises an unimpressed eyebrow, “Untrue. I’m fairly certain that’s what the Chargers do to show affection.”

“What is this?” Evelyn asks as Mahanon makes himself comfortable on the sedan someone dragged up the stairs. Evelyn didn’t ask for it, but she isn’t going to ask for anyone to bring the thing back down, either. Mahanon makes a face and points at her bed.

“Is that actually for sleeping or is it meant to trap you and keep you prisoner?”

“Josephine may have went overboard,” Evelyn pinches her fingers together. “Just a little. Anyway, what are you talking about?”

“This is your warning,” Mahanon says, folding his arms behind his head. “Though I think you shouldn’t need it. Isn’t it taboo for your kind’s mages to mingle with Templars?”

Evelyn feels herself flush down to her _toes_.

“Is there anyone in this damn castle who _isn’t_ going on about what isn’t their business?”

“One,” Mahanon says, lifting a finger, “We’re friends. Two, is it supposed to be a secret? I shouldn’t have to break it to you, but the two of you are very obvious. It’s a little sickening, really. Have some decency, the world is ending and the two of you are courting like a pair of doves. If I have to die I’m not going to do it watching the two of you be coy.”

“You are an ass,” Evelyn says.

Mahanon picks at his teeth, “That’s why you should learn to pick your friends more carefully. That being said, I don’t actually _care_ about your relationship in that if he’s good to you and you’re good to him it doesn’t matter to me. What _does_ matter to me is the fact that you two are moving at actual glacial speeds and it is maddening to be around.”

“This is payback for nudging you and Kaaras together, isn’t it?” Evelyn groans, “I told you, it wasn’t me. It was your sister.”

“And I told you that you shouldn’t be such a push over,” Mahanon replies, “So. Do you have names planned for the inevitable litter of children the two of you will have? I’m warning you now that I want no part in whatever you two spawn. I’ve had enough responsibility raising _Ellana_ , I am absolved of the whole thing. I’ll get you two together if I must but after that consider me _gone_.”

“You are actually the worst,” Evelyn says, sitting on the sedan, pushing his legs off of it. “Did you know that? You’re even worse than _Sera_ and _Varric_.” Evelyn pauses. “Why are all the rogues in my life terrible people?”

“I’m not a rogue,” Mahanon says, “I’m a hunter. Also, have you seen your collection of mages? The absolute and complete _worst_.”

“I am one of those mages.”

“I know,” Mahanon sighs. “The tragedy.”


	35. Chapter 35

Mahanon curls his fingers into her hair, the fine strands free of their braid are silky between his fingers. It has been a long time since the two of them slept like this, together, talked like this, in words.

He is reminded, painfully, of being three next to her swaddling, five and careful with her smaller body, ten and whispering as they tried to eavesdrop on the adults outside, sixteen and coming to terms, nineteen and afraid. And every year between then and now.

“Why him?” Mahanon asks, because he knows Ellana is awake and that she is listening. Once it was her asking him the questions, once it was her who spoke for them both. Once he was the one who did not speak because he did not have to because Ellana had the words and kindness and quickness of tongue and mind to spare. Once.

(“Why her?” Leliana asks. It is not her business to ask in that it is a matter that lies beyond closed doors and has no impact on the Inquisition’s dealings. If it were, perhaps, Evelyn or Dorian or Josephine or someone more visibly important and present, then yes, it would be. It is her business in that all secrets are her trade.

She never did get over the poison of gossip.

“You could have half the people in this hold, you’ve _had_ half the people in this hold. Why her?”

The Iron Bull grunts in acknowledgement of the question, eye traveling slowly over the encoded messages that he’s helping her break.)

Dorian has gone with a group to investigate some magical anomalies close to Redcliffe - lingering magical effects, they think. Kaaras has gone to the Forbidden Oasis to help Evelyn chart out the winding twists and turns of sand.

It is just the two of them, tonight.

Mahanon begins to think that she won’t answer. That she is ignoring him, or that she doesn’t want to. Maybe she doesn’t know.

Mahanon asks because he wants to know. Years together at not once has Ellana ever been this close to another. Friends they’ve both had, _lethallin_ even. But this? Ellana has never tried or wanted to try before. Mahanon does not want to stop this choice of hers. But he does want to know why.

He curls his fingers into her hair and buries his face into his folded arm, resigning himself to never knowing. Another one of her secrets.

“He’s quiet,” Ellana says, reaching around to touch the tips of her hot fingers to the back of his hand. He uncurls his hand from her hair, knuckles brushing against her back. “He’s quiet, Mahanon. That’s all.”

Mahanon nods. He does not understand. Perhaps he will never understand. But it is enough to know. He curls closer to his sister and goes to sleep.

(Leliana half thinks that the Iron Bull will not answer her. Or tell her that he doesn’t know, that there is no reason, or _just because_.

He begins to write his guess down on paper, large hands splaying the rolled parchment flat.

“She’s quiet,” The Iron Bull says, calmly. Simply. Factually. He shrugs his shoulders once. “She’s quiet.”)

-

“ _You said bears_ ,” Mahanon drags himself out of the underbrush, eyes wild with sticks in his hair. He glances around before his focus hones in on Maxwell. His eyes narrow and his shoulders hunch like he’s about to throw himself at Maxwell. “ _Trevelyan_.”

“Are you bleeding?” Maxwell asks, eyes widening, and before turning to Kaaras, “ _He can bleed_? Actual _blood_?”

Kaaras ignores Maxwell in favor of pulling some salve out of his pack and beckoning Mahanon closer. Mahanon ignores him in favor of stomping up to Maxwell, eyes sliding into furious slits.

“You said _bears_ ,” Mahanon points in the direction he came from. His voice is strained with anger and energy, “That wasn’t a damn bear, Trevelyan.”

“What’s the difference? Big angry animal with claws that wants to hurt us for no good reason,” Maxwell says backing up, “Either way we needed you to keep it off our backs while we gathered crystal grace.”

Mahanon lets out a strangled sound that reminds everyone present eerily of his sister.

“ _That was a wolverine!_ ” Mahanon hisses, “Also known as _the creature that fights bears for fun_.”

Maxwell slowly looks towards Herah for help, gesturing at Mahanon.

“You handled it,” Herah says not looking as she counts out crystal grace, “You’re fine now.”

“ _Fine?_ ” Mahanon explodes, “Trevelyan how damn bad is your luck that you’re _pulling in wolverines_? No, Adaar. I am _not_ fine. I came here prepared for _bears_ not wolverines. I can _handle bears_. Not. Wolverines.”

Kaaras hovers around him, trying to clean the scratches on him as Mahanon gesticulates. Herah stands up, stretching her back as she puts pulls her pack back over her shoulder.

“Both are terrible and bad!” Maxwell says, “Don’t blame this on me! I’ve never gotten attacked by wolverines before. And it’s _Evelyn_ who brings in the bears.”

“Well Evelyn isn’t here right now, and her terrible fortune must have rubbed off on you,” Mahanon snaps, “ _I will strangle you_.”

“Can you even reach?” Maxwell asks because _of course he does_ , and Mahanon’s voice does an eerie sort of sputtering _crackle._

Herah looks around, brow furrowing. She catches Mahanon by the back of the neck just as he’s about to spring into action without looking, holding him up and away from Maxwell. Maxwell looks torn between laughing and hiding behind Kaaras.

Mahanon draws a knife and makes a series of increasingly violent gestures at Maxwell with it.

“Alright, alright, we’re sorry we said bears instead of general bad luck,” Herah says, catching Mahanon’s wrist and squeezing it until he loosens his grip. “We’re used to bears. Wolverine is a surprise. Maxwell’s an idiot and he’s sorry for both being an idiot and being unlucky. Now can we get a move on before something - with Trevelyan’s luck, _worse_ than bears and wolverines - hears you two fighting and decides to investigate? Kaaras leave it alone, they’re just scratches. Stop mothering your lover. You’re making me think of Athlok and it’s disturbing beyond words.”


	36. Chapter 36

"Tell me, Lieutenant Adaar, you were born into the Qun, yes?”

Herah turns her head, surprised to be addressed so directly. Solas isn’t necessarily hostile to her, but neither of them have had much chance to talk; and Herah didn’t think either of them would go out of their way to find one.

“Yes,” Herah replies, “I was born into the Qun, and later taken from it. Why do you ask?”

“Is it possible,” Solas asks, “To feel a need - a desire, a hunger, an empty space - for something that you have never seen and have no concept of?”

“Do I miss it, you mean,” Herah folds her arms, turning to look in the direction Solas is looking. “You’re right in that I was eight. I didn’t really _know_ the Qun. I just knew _what my life was like_. I didn’t know its full history or the implications of it. Sometimes I do miss it. Sometimes the world makes more sense in that frame of mind. But you aren’t asking for me, are you?”

“No,” Solas admits. They both watch the Lavellans, Edric, Maxwell, and Dorian teasing her brother into a dark purple storm of stuttering and stray sparks.

“There’s a word for it, isn’t there? A phrase?” Herah asks. Solas tilts his head in question. “In the language of the elves, I mean. I’ve heard Dalish and Mahanon use it, talking to each other, a few times.”

“Lathbora viran,” Solas nods, “A longing for something that cannot be had, a lost place, a long past memory. Something previously _had_.”

“That phrase doesn’t make mention of _who_ did the _losing_ ,” Herah points out. “Sometimes you can want for something someone else has lost, just by proximity.”

Herah leans forward, resting her arms on the cool stone. The mountain wind pushes at her hair. She attempts to take the hand extended as what it could be, rather than for what it is. “Kaaras is like that sometimes.”

He turns his head towards her, giving her more of his attention.

“Sometimes, when the others - the other Valo-Kas or tal-Vashoth, I mean - are talking, or around his parents you can see it. He wants to be in on the jokes, the history. And his parents were full Qun. They tried not to raise him that way, but what else do they know? What else do any of us know? Sometimes we fell back onto old habits. So here’s Kaaras, this kid born outside the Qun but raised by people who only know the Qun. He wants the rest of it, sometimes. Just to know where he comes from.”

Herah breathes in, cold and simple and cutting.

“And maybe, just maybe, it’s something in the blood that yells for the Qun’s specific type of order.”

“A dream carried on,” Solas says, softer than she’s ever heard him be before. She nods, focused on the distant sight of her brother and their friends.

“A dream you always just keep missing,” Herah confirms, “Stolen by something else just as you think you can finally steal it back.”

-

  
“ _They’re what?_ ” Kaaras startles. Evelyn’s voice is fully audible through the thick oak doors that lead to the war room. He turns and exchanges a confused glance with Dorian and Cassandra.

The doors bang open and Evelyn storms out, pauses when she sees them - fury and something glistening at her eyes that might possibly be lightning.

“Dorian, Kaaras,” She says, faltering in her stride but not the sheer overwhelming _presence_ she has. It’s times like these that Kaaras can believe that she’s the Inquisitor of Thedas and not just Evelyn Trevelyan, friend and fellow scholar.

“Should we come back later?” Dorian asks, “We can just report in to Cullen or Josephine directly - “

“Forget that,” She says, “The Lavellans are gone.”

Kaaras feels his stomach swoop out.

“On a trip?” He asks.

“No,” Evelyn’s shoulders ease a little, soften - losing steam, but not heat. “They’ve left. There’s - something happened while you were away on your investigation. There was no time to contact you.”

“What do you mean by _gone_?” Cassandra asks, “They did not just _disappear_.”

“Except for the fact that it seems they did,” Leliana rests her hand on Evelyn’s shoulder, coming to stand next to her. “Never forget who they are. The Dalish are masters of disappearance.”

“In a castle in the damn Frostbacks filled with scouts, soldiers, spies, and everything in between?” Dorian asks, “Not to mention _Cole_?”

All Kaaras can think is _again_?

But Adamant was different.

Adamant was Ellana and the dangers her powers being unleashed presented. Adamant was the two of them leaving to sort things out and keep the rest of them out of danger. Adamant had a warning. Adamant had a goodbye. Adamant had a _I will return for you, vhenan._

 _“What happened_?” Dorian asks. Kaaras’ insides jolt a little when Dorian takes his hand, firmly, sounding calm enough for the both of them.

It reminds him, uncomfortably, of the revelation that Mahanon and Ellana are married, and the events that happened after.

“You are aware of the trouble around Wycome?” Leliana asks them and Evelyn closes her eyes.

“It was my fault,” She chokes out, face turning redder as she curls her fists and hits her knuckles against her forehead, “It was all my fucking _fault_.”

“Clan Lavellan has been decimated,” Leliana says,  “We were able to destroy the red lyrium present that was making the residents of Wycome sick, but not in time to prevent the soldiers from striking against the clan.”

Kaaras’ stomach doesn’t just sweep out from him, it manages to burn everything else it touches on the way out.

“ _The entire clan_?” Kaaras whispers, voice faint.

“That cannot be possible,” Cassandra’s voice is soft, shocked, “No word of survivors? None?”

“None,” Evelyn whispers, “Except Mahanon and Ellana. Because they were here.”

“Andraste,” Dorian exhales.

“I told them not to go, I _ordered them_ not to go,” Evelyn chokes out, “It still isn’t safe - if they had to go, I said _bring people with you_. But they left. They disappeared sometime between sundown and midnight. We haven’t found trace of them since.”

“They’re most likely headed towards Wycome, but by what route we do not know,” Leliana says. “We know not how long it will take them to get there - if they get there at all.”


	37. Chapter 37

“Do you know the reason why your mother named you Kaaras?” Herah asks.

Kaaras glances up at her, moving aside a little to give her room as she gingerly lowers herself down next to him. He feels a guilty curl inside his chest at the bruises he gave her. It was wrong of him. Even if he was angry and hurting.

It’s never an excuse to hurt someone else.

“Because I brought them into a new world,” He answers, pressing his hands together and willing them to stop shaking, to stop feeling like fire and hurt and pain. “I get it. I’m not like the rest of you. I never knew the Qun. It wasn’t trained into me the same way it was for the rest of you.”

He knows that it’s something to be glad and grateful for. His parents risked a lot to bring him into this world - far away from the Qun and its influences.

But at the same time -

“I want to see mother,” Kaaras says, “I want to bury her or keep her ashes. I want something to happen to her. I want that ceremony.”

“I know,” Herah says, “It means something to you.”

“I just don’t understand how it doesn’t for the rest of the Valo-Kas, to Athlok, to _you_ ,” Kaaras’s nails dig into the backs of his palms. “I know -  I know bodies are just bodies. They don’t mean anything without the spirit, but it’s still _my mother_. She’s still mother to me. Even if she’s dead.”

“The reason why your mother named you Kaaras, the navigator,” Herah says, leaning against him - a warm line of certainty and strength that Kaaras knows he’s incredibly fortunate to have in his life, “Is not because you brought them out of the Qun. It can be read that way, but that isn’t the real reason.”

Kaaras glances at her out of the corner of her eye. Herah is looking up towards the sky, white hair loosely tied back and moving in the early dusk wind. He is reminded again, painfully, of what she went through to leave and become _Herah_.

“Names in the Qun come from purpose and characteristics, when we leave it the names we take on become reflections of our newfound selves,” She says. “Sten became Athlok, Imeekari became Herah. Ben-Hassrath Hissrad became the Iron Bull. Your parents named you not because _you_ were to lead _them_ out of the Qun, but because they wanted _you_ to lead _yourself_ into something new.”

Herah turns to look at him.

“Kaaras, your purpose - their hope for you - was that you would find a new way of life for yourself, that you would break away from all their training and their past, that you would forge something new and separate. They reason they raised you the way they did - sometimes distantly, sometimes with too much freedom of choice - was because they wanted it all to be yours. They didn’t want to give you the Qun even though it was all they knew was because they wanted your life to be your own and no one elses. So if you say that you want to go back to your parents house and bury your mother or burn her, do it. What the rest of us think - fuck it. It is all just noise. You are the one in control. You always have been.”

She leans closes and nudges the ridges of their horns together, a familiar gesture that makes Kaaras’ eyes sting.

It’s been so long since they were children.

“Your mother loved you so much, little brother,” Herah says softly. “Never think you didn’t do enough for her. You are everything she could have ever imagined.”

-

“A person isn’t worth what they do,” Maxwell says, slinging an arm around each of the men who had been talking in not particularly low voices. “I mean, look at you two. Initiates into the ranks of the Inquisition’s incredibly small army. Mind, the Inquisition is considered a rebel force. So what does that make the two of you?”

Maxwell’s grip tightens around their shoulders, pulling them in close.

“Also, she isn’t deaf or dull. Aren’t Orlesians all about manners and things like that? She’s _right there_.”

The woman turns to look at him directly, head tilting as she watches Maxwell with the scouts.

“Anything to say, Ellana?” Maxwell asks and the woman sticks out her tongue. “Well said, very succinct. To the point, direct. I like your style.”

Ellana’s eyes turn up at the corners and Maxwell roughly releases the two.

“Go on, you heard the lady. And remember this lesson because if I have to come find you two again and talk more sense into you it will make me very cross. I so dislike being reasonable and strict and all the things that make a proper noble. Scat. I won’t tell the Commander on you this time.”

Maxwell goes to join Ellana sitting on the wall.

“Don’t let them get to you,” He says and Ellana chuffs. He eyes her. “Though I don’t think they were, to be honest. It might have been me they were getting to instead. You aren’t one for words, are you? That’s fine, it seems I have more than enough to spare. I’m Maxwell. I already know your name, rude of me I know to use it without asking for it.”

Ellana shrugs her shoulders, eyes still laughing.

“I was supposed to be a templar,” Maxwell says, “I never made it to the lyrium part. I was rejected from the order.” He leans in to whisper, “Too much mage sympathy for the Ostwick tower. Evelyn is my cousin, but I think everyone knows that by now.”

Ellana’s mouth matches her eyes, now.

“Truth by told,” Maxwell continues, “I truly dislike it when people talk about worth and use - in relation to other people, I mean. As if we, and everything we are, is determined by our work, our professions. In part it is, I admit. Killing a peasant in that kind of explosion wouldn’t raise as many voices as killing the Divine, after all. But still.” Maxwell turns his head towards her. “Whether you sit here and stare at the breach or work the forge or peel potatoes or broker supply deals you are not worthless. You are not useless or a waste.”

Ellana’s smile grows and she leans close to him. She touches the tip of her nose to his and laughs. Maxwell finds it oddly endearing. And her nose is surpassingly warm for someone wearing the barest minimum of clothing to be considered decently dressed.

“A person’s worth is not determined by the role you fill.” He says softly. To himself. To her.

I am not my failures.


	38. Chapter 38

"Meditation, Adaar? May I join you?"

"Yes," Herah says after a moment, opening her eyes. "Good evening, Solas. I would have thought you would prefer to be alone."

"Sometimes there is something to be said for shared and companionable silence," He says taking a seat on the ground near her. "I did not know you meditated."

"I prefer meditation in motion," Herah replies, "Laundry, mostly. But I ran out of clothes with bloodstains so sitting in silence will have to do."

Solas' lips twitch upwards.

"Hide it all you like, I know you're warming up to me," Herah says.

"I hide nothing," Solas folds his hands together and closes his eyes. "May I ask you a question, Herah?"

"Yes," Herah replies. "Then I'm going to ask you to stop because I need quiet time. The Lavellans found signs of a new dragon when they were doing some scouting in the Exalted Plains."

Solas grimaces.

"I know, fighting dragons is great and all but between Maxwell's hay fever and the Lavellan's enthusiasm and Kaaras losing his mind over dragons like he's a five year old again I'm going to need all the concentration I can get before we're dispatched to take care of that. Also, I'm going to need it to outwit the Iron Bull in getting there first."

"Fair," Solas concedes, "My question is how did you choose your name? It is not one given to you by your parents or the Qun."

"How did you choose yours?" Herah returns, "Mahanon told me it means pride. Arrogant you can be at times, but I wouldn't go so far as to name you for it. And I doubt that your parents chose that name for you. It seems like the sort of self given name one has for theatrics."

Solas' lips curl up again, something sharper and flashing in it. Herah feels a small curl of curiosity and intrigue. "The follies of youth continue to haunt me to this day, you could say."

Herah raises an eyebrow, "Mysterious and fascinating. A man of hidden depths. Is there a woman involved?"

"There is always a woman involved," Solas' smile grows. "And death and strife and hind sight and so on. The usual story, as it goes. Incredibly trite and unsurprising, I assure you."

"Alright, be mysterious." Herah snorts. "I chose the name Herah because when I was taken from the Qun I didn't understand a lot of what was happening to me and why. I came to these lands and these cultures and had no idea of what was to become of me. Athlok told me I would need a name. Here people are not numbers or their roles in society; and he could not call me _child_ all the time because someday I would not be a child. But I didn't know what to say. Names are what you are, what you want to be, what you hope to be. I didn't know any of that. So I just told him _Her_ ah."

"Meaning?"

"Time," Herah answers. "With time I thought I would know myself better, what my new role was. With time I thought it would be made clear to me. So I asked to be called time so that I wouldn't have to commit to anything. I thought it would be something I could change later. It stuck. And now I am time. The folly of youth, right?"

"Clever."

"Frightened," Herah corrects. "Not clever. Just frightened."

-

"Mahanon has been sighted from the walls," Harding says and Dorian's heart punches at his ribs.

"Now? Just now?" He asks, but he's already racing down the stares, Harding following behind. The cold wind bursts against his skin and he doesn't know if the pain in his chest is the cold air or just himself, and he doesn't know if he's out of breath because of the run or because of _this moment_.

The great heavy doors to Skyhold's main gate open and there he is.

There he is.

"Amatus," Dorian breathes - Kaaras left three days ago, gone with Evelyn and Maxwell to something in the Graves. A distraction they said. Dorian didn't go. He wanted to be alone.

Their combined grief was getting heavy on the chest.

"Amatus," Dorian repeats again. Mahanon stares at him, looking dazed, confused - lost. Dorian doesn't think he's ever seen Mahanon look so vulnerable, so thin, like something so easily blown away in the wind.

Dorian reaches out, hands onto Mahanon's cold shoulders. He breathes, he moves, but is he here?

Not even then - not even when Ellana's secret was thrown into the open - did Mahanon look so fragile.

Then Mahanon was sharp, shards.

Now Mahanon is sand - blowing through Dorian's fingers.

"Dorian?" Mahanon whispers, blinking slowly. "Dorian?"

"Yes, it's me," Dorian says, trying to rub warmth into Mahanon's arms, "Andraste - you're freezing. Your coat - your cloak - your weapons. Where are they? Don't tell me you came through the damn mountains without any of that - where's Ellana?"

"Ellana?" Mahanon repeats back, dazed. "Ellana?" He turns around slowly as if looking for her, weakly calling out, "Ellana? Ellana?"

And then with a touch of panic, "Ellana?"

"She's not with you?" Cassandra says - Dorian startles, unsure of when she arrived. Cassandra puts her hand on Dorian's shoulder. "Bring him inside. This isn't the place."

Dorian nods, pulling Mahanon towards him, towards the walls, "Come, amatus. The questions will wait - we need to get you warm."

"Ellana," Mahanon's voice shrinks, as he turns back to Dorian, something more awake rising, "Dorian. Dorian. Ellana's still there. She made me leave. She's still there."

"Still where?" Cassandra asks. "Mahanon, where is Ellana?"

"She's still with the dead," Mahanon whispers blanching, voice shrinking and browning like a leaf under sun and fire, "She's still with them - burying them. She sent me away - but she's still there. She made me leave." Mahanon's voice cracks and shivers. Dorian's grip on him firms, and he pulls Mahanon into his chest. Mahanon's voice shrinks in Dorian's ear. " _Mother_."


	39. Chapter 39

“I am not leaving until you let me in there and see her,” Maxwell says, pounding on the heavy Chantry door. This is probably at least ten sorts of sacrilege but Maxwell figures that he’s already damned thirty different ways just for continuing to breathe as a living insult to the Trevelyan family so he might as well keep going. “Seeker Penteghast? I demand to see Evelyn!”

The templar guards on either side of the door try to pull him away but while Maxwell did fail at all the mental mind sets that make a templar he _did not_ fail in combat. He holds his ground.

“I am going to stay here until I am allowed to see that Evelyn is being kept well,” Maxwell yells at the door, “I am Maxwell Trevelyan and as incredibly out of favor I am there _will_ be repercussions for your actions if you evict me from Haven. The Trevelyans may regret my existence but they still like Evelyn. _Let me see her_.”

The door swings open and Rutherford gives him an exasperated look, gesturing for the templars to let him go.

“Ser Trevelyan,” Ambassador Montilyet says coming into view behind Rutherford, “It is dangerous to see her, and we are not entirely sure of her innocence.”

“We’re certain of her guilt.” Pentaghast’s voice comes from deeper within the room. Maxwell pushes forward but Rutherford stops him with a hand to the chest, shaking his head. Maxwell glares at him. “What more evidence do you need? She was the only survivor of the explosion, in fact she was in the very _center of it_. And that mark on her hand. Reports say that she was an exemplary scholar and experimenter.”

“Evelyn never worked on anything that could do this,” Maxwell cranes his neck to look around the Ambassador and Commander. Pentaghast’s sharp eyes meet his. “She wrote to me about her research. Do you want me to send for her letters? I can tell you exactly what she was studying these past decades down to the volume. I can give you a list of damn citations if that’s what you need. _Evelyn is innocent_.”

“Trevelyan,” Cullen says, “I know that you two are close. But it’s been years. You don’t know what was true and false in those letters.”

“Evelyn wouldn’t _lie to me_ ,” Maxwell spits, “You don’t know her. Just talk to her - you’d know instantly she’s innocent.”

“We cannot talk to her,” Pentaghast snaps, coming to the door and gently moving Josephine aside. “Because she is unconscious and has not woken since we found her coming out of the Fade.”

“So you condemn her without even speaking to her?” Maxwell scoffs, “Let me vouch for her. I will speak for her since she cannot. Maker knows I have the mouth for five people. Might as well put it to use. _I will stand here until you let me see her_.”

Pentaghast scowls at him, stepping closer like she’s about to punch him out and Maxwell glares back. He’d rather be punched in the face than ignored. At least that means they’re starting to listen.

“Cassandra,” Rutherford’s voice softly cuts in, “She’s unconscious and being watched at all hours. I can go with him if you’re worried about security.”

“He’s not wrong about the Trevelyan’s opinion of Evelyn,” The Ambassador adds on, “And there really is no reason to keep them apart.”

Pentaghast’s jaw clenches, “Very well. But he goes in unarmed. Cullen, you go with him. Josephine send for those notes. How quickly can we get Ostwick’s reply?”

“Within a fortnight at least,” Montilyet replies, Maxwell steps aside for her as she leaves the room, “I’ll have Leliana send her fastest birds.”

“Thank you,” Maxwell says, “And you’re welcome.”

“For _what_?”

“For stopping you from making a terrible decision about an innocent life,” Maxwell replies, “Commander Rutherford, lead the way.”

-

Ellana returns under the cover of darkness, without warning or signal, with everything different.

Evelyn startles awake when she feels a hand on her cheek, the faintest touch of magic that she doesn’t recognize - but one that she feels that she’s touched before.

“Evelyn,” Her eyes meet Ellana’s - lit by a small, soft and muted mage light.

“ _Ellana_?” Evelyn sits up, wrist flicking a flame and reaching for the candles on her bedside table.  “Maker’s breath.”

Ellana sits in full Dalish armor, a staff hanging over her back. Evelyn has never seen Ellana looks like this. Like -

Evelyn doens’t know the word she’s looking for.

“Does Mahanon know?”

Ellana tilts her head towards the staircase and Evelyn turns, seeing Mahanon’s wide and confused, hurt eyes.

“I need you to be witness,” Ellana says, standing and holding her hand out. Evelyn takes it.

“What happened?” Evelyn whispers. Somehow it feels like any loud noise can break the fragile and glass-like texture of this moment of not-time.

“Clan Lavellan’s numbers are reduced to two,” Ellana says by way of answers, holding Evelyn’s hand in hers as Evelyn pulls a blanket off of the bed to wrap around her shoulders. Mahanon quietly pads across the room towards them and opens the balcony door. The moonlight blanches his skin and gleams off of his pale hair. “Years ago I was once the First of Clan Lavellan, but I was demoted to Third after I began to learn the arts of transformation. One who cannot reliably be certain and true to their own selves, one who is easily lost and confused, cannot be trusted to lead others.”

Evelyn stares at Ellana’s face. It’s like she’s awake; well and truly awake and aware. Ellana has always been aware, awake, yes, but - this is different. There is a sharper focus and intensity to it.

This, Evelyn realizes, turning to catch the way Mahanon stares at his sister, is the Ellana Mahanon had lost. This is the Ellana the _both_ of them have been trying to hang onto.

“I was allowed this weakness because there were others to support me, to guide me, to do what I could not,” Ellana leads them out into the moonlight. “But those people are gone, and it is selfish of me to continue to rely on others to make up for my inadequacies.”

“You aren’t - “ Mahanon begins.

Ellana raises her hand, eyes focusing on him, “There are parts of you that hate me, that wish I were gone. There are parts of you, brother of my heart, that wish I had never come into this world; and that if I did I would have been anything different. There are parts of you that wish I had died rather than become bear. There are parts of you that, sometimes, wish could remove me forever. This is fact.”

Mahanon flinches, eyes closing in shame.

“He loves you,” Evelyn says, stepping closer to Mahanon. Ellana’s hand squeezes hers.

“I know,” Ellana says, voice and eyes softening like cold mist, “And because I also love him, I too wish those things. I, too, hate myself for the suffering I have caused him. I, too, wish that I had never been born, that we had never met, that I was better or stronger or all around _different_ from what I have become. There are parts of me that, at times, blame him for not killing me when he had the chance. There are parts of me that hate him for staying. I love him. This does not change the fact that I have caused him to suffer.”

Ellana releases Evelyn’s hand and moves closer to her brother, reaching and taking his hand in one of hers and then coaxing his face to meet hers with the other.

“Evelyn, I need you to stand as witness. You are the Inquisitor of Thedas and our dear friend. Your word above anyone else’s will hold.”

“Witness for what?”

Ellana strokes Mahanon’s cheek with her thumb.

“I am Keeper of Clan Lavellan,” She says, softly, “I bear the Keeper’s staff, I have the ring of the First. Do you accept this, Mahanon of Lavellan?”

“Yes,” Mahanon whispers.

“Then as Keeper of Clan Lavellan,” Ellana says, “I dissolve the bond between us. Brother and sister we are once more. You are no longer bound to me as husband, nor I to you as wife. With the Inquisitor of Thedas as witness, I cut that tie. Be free.”

Evelyn gapes, and Mahanon’s eyes grow wide. Ellana’s eyes smile, though her mouth does not.

“I am weak and fragile of mind,” Ellana says, releasing Mahanon’s hand and face. “I am selfish and flawed. I am sorry I have been a burden to you for so many years. I am sorry to say that as hard as I am trying, I do not know if I will ever be the person we both want me to be again.”

Mahanon’s eyes close, “I know.”

“That doesn’t mean we don’t love who you are now,” Evelyn puts a hand on their shoulders, “And you are trying. You haven’t given up. Nor have we given up on you.”

Ellana smiles, “I do not know how long I will be this way. Even now I feel my mind start to fray and pull in every direction I know I have been. I wish I could help you more, I wish I could stay this way for all of you. All the time. Evelyn, thank you for what you’ve done for us. Clan Lavellan, as small as we are now, stands with you, _lethallin_.”


	40. Chapter 40

Dorian's heart breaks as the clues that create the bigger picture come together.

How many times can a person’s heart break? _Infinitely without ever stopping_. One break can go on for years and leagues, apparently.

“Mahanon," Dorian reaches out and cautiously brushes strands of dirty hair from the man’s face. Mahanon jerks awake, dark eyes wild with anxiety and fear and adrenaline. Dorian is instantly sorry. When was the last time he slept? Looking at him closer - when was the last time he _ate_ something proper? Forget the last time the man washed himself or his clothing - when was the last time Mahanon was able to close his eyes and breathe?

“Dorian?” Mahanon rasps out, voice rough and tangled like the underbrush. This Mahanon is so unfamiliar. Dorian can’t help but think Kaaras would know this Mahanon better.

This Mahanon is nothing like the lazy eyed beasts and silk serpents Dorian is used to. This Mahanon is everything the rabbit Orlesians like to call the elves. Dorian can almost _feel_ Mahanon’s heart racing, Mahanon’s pupils are deep and wide, and everything in his body looks ready to run.

“Dorian, you can’t be here,” Mahanon whispers, snatching Dorian’s wrist in a strong, desperate hold. “Dorian you have to leave, right now.” Mahanon turns to quickly look over his shoulder, over the brush towards the cave a few yards away. “Dorian, run.”

“I know she’s there,” Dorian says softly, taking Mahanon’s frightfully cold hands in his own. Dorian warms their skin with magic and will. “Mahanon, I know that you’ve been chasing Ellana across Thedas since Adamant and herding her here. Leliana told us that you’ve had her in that cave for over a fortnight now. Come home, Amatus.”

“No,” Mahanon shakes his head, not looking at Dorian. Now that the man is fully awake all of his attention is on the cave and the one who lies within it. “I can’t leave her. It’s not safe. Dorian, I can’t protect you if you stay here - _you must go_.”

“Not without you, leave her,” Dorian says, squeezing Mahanon’s hands.

Mahanon’s head snaps to look at him, eyes wide, mouth open and Dorian quickly shakes his head.

“Not forever, not like that. I would never ask you to do that, Mahanon. Look at you. You are worn to the literal bone. You can’t keep up like this. Come back to Skyhold and rest; recover and let us help you.”

“I can’t _leave her alone,_ ” Mahanon protests, but his hand squeezes Dorian’s tight. Ah, this particular struggle Dorian knows well.

“Then don’t,” Dorian says, “Bull is coming; Herah and Kaaras not far behind, they had to fetch Athlok. Four full grown Qunari - one of them a mage - are more than capable of keeping Ellana here until we have a better plan of action.”

“No,” Mahanon shakes his head, “I cannot do that. I will not abandon her - she is _my_ duty - my - “

“ _Mahanon_ ,” Dorian interrupts, “She is _our friend_. We don’t have the same years and knowledge of her as you do but - “

“That’s exactly it,” Mahanon hisses, “You don’t _know_. You think I _want_ to be the one to do this? _No_. I am _the only one_ , the duty falls to _me_ by _default_. She does not _know you_ like this. She doesn’t know _any of you_ like this. She will kill them - or try to. She will kill _you_. I cannot let that happen - she is not anyone you know. She is not anyone you trust. At this very moment the Ellana you think you know is gone. She will never return and you will never know what happened to her - “

“Then explain it,” Dorian says, tired exasperation and concern and worry and hurt. So many secrets with these two. So many ways of shifting attention and blame and hurt around without ever letting it go.

Mahanon closes his eyes.

“I will not leave you,” Dorian says softly, “Whatever it is you think is to heavy - why should you bear it alone and call it enough, when you could share it among us? You are not alone. She is not alone. Things change, situations change, _people change_. And those who love each other - as I do to you and to her, and as I hope you both do to me - hold their burdens together. Or so I hope - so you’ve taught me.”

“I do love you,” Mahanon whispers, “But that is that, and this is this.” Mahanon swallows and turns to look towards the cave again. Dorian squeezes his hand.

“When she was sixteen,” Mahanon begins, “She chose the craft of the shape changer. Her first shape was _bear_ to honor the Keeper of Secrets.” Mahanon’s other hand slowly opens and closes, “Ellana was a bear for over a _year_. She would not change back. She couldn’t change back. She began to - she began to forget. She would attack clan members. She would go off into the forests. She would fight the hounds, break into the stores.” Mahanon’s eyes meet Dorian’s, a kind of screaming intensity, “I was at her side for months to bring her back. I would not leave my sister. It took me _years_ but I eventually pulled her back. Woman again. But not the same. She lost her concentration, she would forget words, movements, she wouldn’t feel t things the right way, taste or hear or smell things as an elven woman would. That is when we became engaged, and later married.”

Mahanon runs a shaking hand through his hair, “We began to think perhaps - perhaps we could show them that she had recovered. She studied doe for a season, spider for only a month, raven and hawk and rabbit alike were only a moon or two. Snake was a moon and a half but she came back easily enough. Wolf was half a year but her recovery was quick. She got her words and hands back easily enough.”

Mahanon closes his eyes, “But bear comes for her. It clings to her. Or she clings to it - I don’t _know_. Whenever she slips into bear - whenever bear overtakes her. She’s gone. For almost twenty years we have been trying to shake bear off of her trail, but still it comes for her. And every time it gets a little harder. And so the elders say _she needs you still, you are the only one_. So we remain the same pair, Ellana and Mahanon: the kept and the keeper, the hunted and the hunter, the lost and the minder.”

“Why are you the only one? Why can’t anyone else help?” Dorian asks, “She has all of us, now.”

“She doesn’t know that,” Mahanon’s voice cracks, “Dorian, please. _She doesn’t know you in this form_.” Mahanon’s voice fades a little, skin paling, “She doesn’t know anyone.”

“And you’re the exception?”

Mahanon looks away. Dorian tugs at Mahanon’s hand.

“ _Your’e the exception_? She knows you? She recognizes you? You’re safe with her?” Dorian presses.

Mahanon closes his eyes.

“ _Mahanon_.”

“I used to be,” Mahanon whispers, eyes averted. “But the longer she’s bear the more she forgets. Sometimes she knows me - sometimes she sees me as something that isn’t a threat. But not when I’m herding her towards a land of swords and men.”

“Fasta vass - Mahanon, if you aren’t safe with her then what the hell are you trying to protect me from?” Dorian snaps, “I’ll take my chances to stand my ground and help my friend. But first you’re coming with me, we’re going back to Skyhold and at the very least you’re eating something. Bull and the others should probably be coming around any second now.”

“I can’t,” Mahanon begins -

“You will,” Dorian finishes, “Because she isn’t your problem, or your duty any longer. She is _ours_. I’m choosing to directly put myself in this situation - uninvited or no. Because I am not going to stand here and watch the two of you ruin yourselves without trying to stop it. I love the both of you too much not to.” Dorian jerks Mahanon to his feet, pulling Mahanon close, “Come on. You’re too weak to even fight me right now, let alone your sister. It’s time to regroup and come up with a new plan.”


	41. Chapter 41

“You know what, I’m just going to stick with _the Iron Bull_ ,” Bull says, leaning back in his chair, arms crossed behind his head. “I’m good with that.”

“That's not the point!” Maxwell throws his arms into the air, “You guys - the reason we pick code names is so that no one knows our _real names_.”

“Trevelyan, you dumb piece of ass,” Bull makes a _give it here_ motion at Mahanon who sullenly deposits some coins into his hand.

“Trevelyan you make me regret ever defending your intelligence,” Mahanon grumbles darkly, “I am never making that mistake again.”

“But it _is_ his real name,” Cole protests, “Or it might as well be, it’s the one he - “

Herah and Evelyn wordlessly raise their hands to cover Cole’s mouth. Evelyn gives him a soft _shush_.

Ellana raises her hand - and a leg - from the table she’s lying down on behind Maxwell.

“Yes, Ellana? Do you want to volunteer a code name?” Maxwell turns to her.

Ellana blows a wet raspberry and then starts making shadow puppets.

“Excepllent, _pfft_ rabbit-dragon-bronco,” Maxwell says, “I’m glad _someone_ is finally cooperating with my plans. You are my favorite Lavellan.”

“I’m so sorry for that burden, sister,” Mahanon says, “I’d take it from you if I could, but alas, it seems as if this fate lies only with you.”

“Don’t worry, you’re _my_ favorite Lavellan,” Dorian says.

Ellana lets out an affronted squawk.

Maxwell and Evelyn both reach out to pat her. Evelyn pats Ellana’s foot and Maxwell pats her knee.

“Why do we need code names?” Sera asks.

“Because it’s cool?” Malika says.

“So that no one outside of the Inquisition knows who we’re talking about,” Maxwell says. “In case of spies and such.”

“I already have a code name,” Mahanon says, “I think you want us to make up new ones so we can form a - what is it? - a coterie.”

Dorian lets out a pleased laugh, “I was simply going to say a _clique_ , nicely done, Amatus. Has Kaaras been reading you his favorite novels again?”

“Only when you can’t hear to mock the author’s choice in language,” Mahanon confirms, smile flickering at the edge of his mouth.

“ _We are not here to flirt!_ ” Maxwell interrupts, “This is serious Inquisition business.”

“Can’t we just be numbers?” Herah says. Sera and Bull perk up, grinning - Sera has her hand half raised and Herah gives them both looks. “ _Randomly_ assigned numbers.”

Sera and Bull immediately look slightly less interested.

Ellana proceeds to make a seemingly impossible and intricate shadow diagram of a group of warriors fighting a dragon.

Evelyn looks down at her own hands and mutters _how_?

“ _Pfft-_ rabbit-dragon-bronco stop distracting Evelyn,” Maxwell scolds, “There’s enough mystery about you without adding shadow puppet witchcraft.”

-

“Why do you look like that?” Kaaras says.

Mahanon entered their room almost ten minutes ago and when he didn’t say or move or do anything, Kaaras looked up to see the man pressed flat against the door looking like Malika had thrown a fish in his face. A live fish.

Kaaras knows this look because it’s happened before and Mahanon was too surprised and incredulous about it happening to retaliate.

Malika has since seemed to take that lack of retaliation as proof that Mahanon is, internally, kind and soft.

She is wrong.

Mahanon is kind and beautiful and clever and many things but soft isn’t one of them.

Mahanon blinks owlishly, mouth slowly opening and closing soundlessly.

Kaaras doesn’t know how concerned he should be. On one hand, Mahanon is so rarely caught flat footed like this something well and truly awful must have happened - but wouldn’t Mahanon also have some sort of warning? If it was something awful wouldn’t Kaaras have known? Skyhold would be buzzing already if it were some sort of attack or strike from the Venatori but what if it’s something more insidious? Some sort of secret attack or -

And on the other hand, Kaaras cuts himself off before he can get irreparably off track and out of control, Mahanon looks incongruously handsome when he’s surprised.

Mahanon’s long lashes flutter as he blinks rapidly and his mouth opens and closes like a fish and it really oughtn’t be so attractive but Kaaras’ mind can’t help but slip to other things and why is it so hard for his thoughts to generally stay on one path?

“I think I may have propositioned Dorian on accident,” Mahanon blurts out.

“You _what_?” Kaaras’ thoughts, understandably, go off the path entirely and plunge off a metaphorical cliff.

“I mean - not on accident, but no on purpose either and I’m going to strangle my sister with her own hair,” Mahanon says sinking against the door and groaning, hitting his head against the wood. “This is her fault I know it is.”

“You _did what to who_?” Kaaras gapes.

Mahanon covers his face, “I’m too old for this.” And then, “Are you angry?”

“I don’t know what I am - _you propositioned Dorian Pavus?_ ” Just in case there’s another Dorian around that Kaaras hasn’t made a fool of himself around within the past few months.

Mahanon looks at him, hands curling on top of his knees, “Are you angry that I propositioned him or are you angry that I didn't consult you first? As I said - it was something of a spontaneous thing that happened because my sister likes to meddle where she is unwelcome.”

“I - “ Kaaras sputters, “I - “

Mahanon’s gaze turns contemplative, “I know you find him attractive, Kaaras. As you find me attractive, and Rutherford, and Aclassi, and the Iron Bull, and - “

Kaaras puts his face in his hands.

“How did this come around to me?”

Mahanon hums, “Kaaras.”

“What difference does it make?” Kaaras groans into his hands, the skin of his face and neck and shoulders rapidly prickling with heat.

“Well,” Mahanon says, voice coming closer, “In the prior situation you are upset because I was - inadvertently - unfaithful to you. In the second you are upset not because I was untrue, but because you did not have time to think it over before agreeing. Kaaras, do you wish for Dorian to join us?”

“I officially hate your sister,” Kaaras says, curling in on himself as Mahanon slowly drapes himself over Kaaras’ shoulders, mouth close to his ear as he hums.

“I think we have some things to discuss, lover,” Mahanon muses, cheek nuzzling Kaaras’, “And it would be much easier if I could see your face while we do.”


	42. Chapter 42

“You know, they actually look adorable like this,” Maxwell says, careful to keep his voice low. “Well, Ellana looks quite sweet all the time, but Mahanon normally looks like he’s thinking about how to best remove all of my skin in one go.”

“That's because he probably is,” Malika says, “Aw, his nose twitched.”

“Remind me,” Evelyn says careful as she turns her head towards Josephine, “Why they’re sleeping on top of me?”

“The medics were concerned for your body temperature,” Josephine answers, eyes soft as she takes them in, “We don’t have enough blankets or kindling to go around. The best solution was to have someone stay with you to make sure your temperature didn’t drop further.”

“And that leads to this?”

“Everyone else is too big,” Malika says, “And uncle Eric had a concussion so they didn’t think it’d be a good idea.”

“And you?” Maxwell asks.

“I kick,” Malika shrugs.

Mahanon nuzzles closer, reaching over Evelyn blindly and immediately curling his fingers into  her hair. His breath is warm over Evelyn’s cheek. Ellana makes a soft mumbling south under her breath and curls in closer, a surprising bar of heat all along Evelyn’s side.

“This is too good,” Maxwell whispers, “Good things happen to good people this is proof.”

Evelyn glares at him.

“I can’t believe I’m seeing Mahanon Lavellan cuddle with my own two eyes,” Maxwell coos, and then blanches, “I must be _dying_.”

“I will kill you,” Mahanon says and everyone freezes.

Evelyn slowly turns her head towards Mahanon. Mahanon’s eyes are still closed and he makes no other movement to signal that he’s awake. Mahanon wrinkles his nose a bit and turns his face deeper into Evelyn’s hair and closer to her neck.

“He makes death threats in his _sleep_?” Malika whispers, turning round eyes to Josephine and then Maxwell, “And he sounds _coherent doing it_? Ancestors - do you think he knows he does that? Do you think he could teach me? Imagine what that would add to my Carta rep!”

-

“This is your battlefield Josephine,” Herah takes Josephine’s hands into hers, “I swear to you on my pride as a mercenary and fighter, if you tell me to refuse challenge duel I will. I will stand down if that is how you want this handled.” Herah takes a breath, “But don’t think of that as me not wanting to fight for you. Because I would. I will. As long as you permit me to, I want to be with you and I want to be yours.”

“Herah - I - “

“Josephine, I respect you and everything you do and I respect that this is your battlefield. As I respect Cullen and Evelyn as my commanding officers, I respect you in this as well. Do you want me to accept the duel?”

Josephine closes her eyes, “It wasn’t supposed to go this far.”

Herah’s long fingers gently, but firmly, stroke over the back of Josephine’s hands in silent encouragement.

“I love you,” Josephine says and Herah lets out a rushing sigh of relief. Josephine’s heart pangs.

That Herah would even sound that relieved to hear those words is telling. Herah should always know - should have always known how important she is to Josephine.

“I love you and I do want to be with you so very much, Herah,” Josephine says, looking into Herah’s eyes, “But this is something I must do for the both of us. It is something that I feel I must sort out on my own. However, at the same time - you, one of the highest ranking members of the Inquisition’s army as well as one of our best diplomats and close confidant to the Inquisitor, has been challenged openly. It would be a most grievous slight to your reputation and I do not want that to happen. I would regret it if my stubbornness cost you that much.”

“And I would regret it if my actions - against your wishes - were to cause you to compromise your beliefs in any way,” Herah replies. “Forget my reputation. I’m a woman. I’m an assassin. I’m a Qunari Tal-vashoth. I can work my way back up from refusing to duel a petty man who doesn’t know rejection when he hears it. Josephine, tell me, do you have any regrets about us?”

“None,” Josephine squeezes Herah’s hands, “I regret nothing about us, Herah. I never have. I never will.”

How could Josephine ever regret this? Them? _Herah is everything to be proud of and more_. If anything, Josephine regrets he many things and tangled webs of protocol that demand that they stay apart.

Damn them all, Josephine thinks, this is the most important thing. What else could ever supersede this?

“Then neither do I,” Herah smiles, “I will ignore the challenge, Josephine. I know you can handle this. Who cares what anyone says of me? I know who I am. And I know who’s important.”

-

Bull looks at Ellana, eyes closed and breathing unsteady. Her arm lies over her eyes, fingers opening and closing with an unsteady shake.

Her breath is an uncertain rasp, as if she doesn’t remember how to breathe - or like she may forget how within any moment.

“Why?” Bull asks.

They both know the specifics of this question.

Why is Bull the one she’s closest and calmest with? Why is Bull the one she chose from the beginning? Why is it that around him she’s able to hold onto herself for longer?

Ellana turns her head towards him, lifting her arm up to reveal her eyes. They’re still not quite right - something about the pupils and the color of her iris. Even the way they focus, or fail to.

Her mouth parts and she takes a slow breath.

“It’s your heart,” She says, “It’s quiet. Being around you - it’s quiet.”

Bull waits.

She closes her eyes, scouring herself for the words.

“Everything is noise,” She finally says, “All of them with their rabbit and hummingbird hearts. So loud. Hundreds of them all at once, in every direction all the time. No peace, no rest, no respite. Every single one demanding something different, something else. Every man, woman, child, horse, dog, chicken, pig, down to the last vermin. Day after day after day, not a single moment where my own thoughts can shine through.”

Ellana lowers her arm to her side.

“Sometimes there are sounds that drown out others - I don’t know why. Mahanon’s voice - sometimes - cuts through; proximity, familiarity, routine, all of the above, perhaps. There are other things - the sounds of danger, other predators, those who are like me. But you,” Her fingers spread out, “You were quiet.”

She turns her head towards him.

“Do you remember when we first met?”

“Yes,” Bull said.

“When you first came to Haven I noticed it,” She said, “Your heart was loud. It made everything quiet. It was like mine. I could find my own inside of it. For days I experimented - how far away could I go from you before it became too loud again? Did the effect change with distance? Did it matter what was between us? Why? Could I replicate it with the other Qunari? Was it you or the Chargers? Was it really even you?”

“Was it?”

“I do not think either of us would be here if it was not,” Ellana slowly sits up. “That is not to say I am here for only your silence. That is to say, first, it was the silence that was not silence. The others were still there - the wind, the Breach, the hearts, the voices that all ran together like water. But you helped. It was easier to find my own thoughts in the noise with your silence muting them. Still hard, but easier. That is what brought me close, but that is not what told me to stay.”

Bull does not ask her what it was.

He holds his hand out to her.

Ellana extends her arm without hesitation, placing her hand in his.

“There is something in the calm of you,” He says, “There is a certainty in you that remains no matter what else changes. I give you permission, and I continue to give you permission because I respect and value that steady calm. “

So much of her is different from the Qun and the things he knows, the things he was raised to hold close.

And yet - in her there is the unmistakeable and unrelenting certainty that he misses and will never break from that reminds him of the Qun. There are answers and resolutions in her to questions that he does not have the strength to hold up to the light. There is a depth and darkness that does not lack clarity to her thoughts.

He understands that particular sort of silence.

In the Qun there is only order and control and logic. The rest of Thedas, in contrast, is chaos and anarchy. Too much rope to hang with, too much water to drown in.

When you are surrounded on all sides and sinking, you cling to whatever solid thing you can grasp.

It is not wrong.

And with that thing tethering you to the surface, you reach into the center of yourself, and you find peace.

“Andaran ati’shan,” Bull crafts the words.

“Panahedan,” Ellana answers.


	43. Chapter 43

“They’re saying that they’re going to put Evelyn in charge,” Herah says, firmly sitting Malika down and staring at Ellana until she climbs down off of the stair rail and sits down. Herah points at Bull, “Keep your one working eye on this one because we’re having a talk.”

Bull gives Herah a salute and Ellana turns to him and sticks out her tongue. Bull snorts.

“Leliana approached me today while Mahanon and I were organizing the cartographers and scouts,” Herah continues, “Skyhold is getting close to live able and is for the most part not going to fall down about our ears. Morale isn’t as bad as it could be, which is saying something, but we need to take action. The Inquisition has been without a definite and clear hierarchy of power and I agree with them in that appointing an Inquisitor would be both good for morale and a show of resistance and unification towards _everyone_. Thoughts?”

“Better my cousin than me?” Maxwell says.

“Definitely like her better than you,” Sera says, “I’m good. Evelyn’s nice. Kind of sheltered and a little straight laced, but nice. Agreed, signed on, yay, whatever you need me to say.”

“She’s young,” Edric says, furrow between his brow, “And fresh out of the Circle. Are they sure?”

“Is that an objection?” Dorian asks, “Because I might not have been here for as long as the rest of you but short of the Maker himself coming down and picking someone out I think Evelyn has the best chance out of everyone here. She survived a mountain _and_ a dragon _and_ an army _and_ the Fade doing their damned best to remove her.”

“He’s right,” Malika says, “Age has nothing to do with it. I trust her. A lot of us do. I mean - sure, age yields experience and all, but I’m pretty sure she’s got a lot of experience for someone of her age. Does that make her sound old? I don’t mean to make her sound old.”

“She’s ancient,” Maxwell says.

“She’s half a year older than you,” Kaaras says. “And I’m with Edric, she doesn’t have a lot of experience in command. She’s my friend and I trust her and I’ve fought with her and I have no regrets about anything, but I’m worried about her. What if _she doesn’t want to_? What if she isn’t comfortable with it?”

“That’s what advisors are for,” Mahanon says, “Also me.”

“Cute,” Maxwell says, “Your friendship with my cousin never ceases to terrify me. Your thoughts, Varric?”

“She’ll do fine,” Varric says, “Hawke was younger than her when Kirkwall happened. And things turned out fine in that Kirkwall still exists on a map.”

“That’s not a strong vote of confidence but I’ll take it,” Herah says. “Bull, comments?”

Bull shakes his head, still locked into a staring contest with Ellana.

“Ellana? Comments? Criticisms? Concerns?”

Ellana makes a shooing motion at them and leans forward, chin resting on her hands as she focuses on Bull.

“You aren’t going to win, sometimes he falls asleep with his eye open,” Malika says.

“False, I just pretend and blink when you blink,” Bull replies.

“Disturbing all around,” Dorian says, “So many questions to ask and things to say to that but I won’t. In any case, does it matter what we think or not?”

“Yes because if any of us here, her closest friends, have any real concerns then they’re legitimate concerns,”  Herah says, “If we don’t support her in this, if we refuse to follow, why would anyone else? Any other concerns?”

No one else speaks.

“Alright, then anyone who objects?” Herah looks around. No one says anything.

“And everyone in favor?” She raises her hand and everyone else does too. Even Ellana as she and Bull continue their staring contest.

“Than it’s settled,” Herah says, “I will report this back to Leliana. By the end of the week, Evelyn will be the Inquisitor of Thedas.”

-

“Listen, I don’t know how it’s happened, but the deer are multiplying,” Edric says, “At a truly alarming rate. Get your sister under control, I’m begging you on behalf of Dennet because that man wouldn’t say anything out of sheer stoic pride.”

“One, I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Mahanon says, “Two, don’t ever tell me what to do. Three, if you think I can control my sister’s hoarding tendencies you are far more out of your mind than I have been lead to believe and I am incredibly disappointed in myself.”

“Ouch,” Maxwell says.

“Be silent, Maxwell,” Mahanon’s eyes narrow although he’s still looking at Edric, “Every time you talk I want to shake more of your brain out of your skull and you’re running rather low on brain.”

“Mean,” Maxwell mouths.

“You can’t not know what I’m talking about,” Edric says, “There are at least four herds of deer crowding the Inquisition’s bridge.”

“I’ve been asleep for three days,” Mahanon says, “By force because I could have handled it without interference.”

“You had a cold, Mahanon,” Evelyn says, “And climbing to the top of towers and waging a silent warfare with the medics wasn’t helping you.”

“It wasn’t hurting me, either,” Mahanon sneers.

“Listen, please, just get your sister to stop. Or ask them to leave. I think they’re going to wage war with each other soon over who gets what choice standing spots.”

“Fascinating,” Mahanon drawls, “Is there a wager on who will win?”

“The herd with the stripes on their hindquarters,” Maxwell says, “Is the current lead. But personally I favor the newcomers, myself. Those horns look mean.”

“I think Ellana was lonely without you,” Evelyn says, “That and maybe she wanted to get you something to feel better when you woke up. You always talk about how much you miss running with the herds.”

“I do, they aren’t nearly as loud or as clumsy as Maxwell,” Mahanon says and then follows Evelyn out of the room towards the walkways. He lets out a low whistle as he leans over Skyhold’s walls to examine the congregation of deer.

“Rude,” Maxwell huffs and then - “Are you _smiling_?”

Mahanon turns and fixes Maxwell with a look, “My body is too weak to fight off the lesser emotions. Think nothing of it.”

“How can you be this terrifying when sick? _How_?”


	44. Chapter 44

Information about the other characters:

  * Maxwell (28/TEMPLAR - DA:I):Hangs out on the castle walls by the Mage/Templar area. He likes to bully mean Templars.
  * Evelyn (28/RIFT MAGE - DA:I): Usually either in the library or main hall.
  * Herah (33/ SHADOW - DA2): Can be found by the foot of Skyhold's main hall stairs. She greets diplomats and helps direct new people in Skyhold to where they need to be.
  * Kaaras(25/FORCE MAGE - DA2): He's on the second floor of Skyhold's library, across from Dorian.
  * Mahanon(33/ASSASSIN - DA:O): He's usually around the training ring.
  * Ellana(30/SHAPESHIFTER - DA:O): She can be found in the shrubbery by the Herald's Rest, sitting down and playing with random animals (animal spawns are random).
  * Edric(39/ARTIFICER - DA:I): Inside the Herald's rest by the bar, once Sutherland and his group are recruited he can be found with them.
  * Malika(19/BESERKER - DA:O ): Malika is usually found in the same areas as the trainers closer to the Merchant sides.




	45. Chapter 45

“You _shoved_ Maxwell off a cliff into frozen water,” Evelyn exclaims. Maxwell moans faintly from the bed.

“Did not,” Mahanon says at the same time Ellana nods. The two glance at each other. Ellana shrugs and then shakes her head and crosses her arms in an _x_ over her chest at the same time Mahanon says,“Yes I did?”

“Why?” Evelyn hisses, “Do you know how insufferable he is when he’s sick?”

“I’m dying,” Maxwell groans on cue, “I’m going to get consumption.”

“Do you even know what consumption _is_?” Sera asks, “Evelyn, your cousin is broken can you get a new one?”

“If that worked I would have done it years ago,” Evelyn says.

“You told us to get rid of the smell,” Mahanon says, “And standard tactics wouldn’t work so we pushed him into the pond.”

“I meant the _unicorn!_ ”

Mahanon barks out a laugh while Ellana just barks.

“It’s _dead_ , the smell isn’t going anywhere,” Mahanon rolls his eyes, “Besides. Maxwell doesn’t smell anymore. You’re welcome.”

“I can’t feel my face,” Maxwell whines. “It’s so _cold_.”

Mahanon glares at Maxwell around Evelyn who’s rubbing at her temples - or possibly trying to crush her own skull.

“Don’t worry, I’ve got something for you,” Sera says, examining a bubbling and fizzing glass vial that’s alarmingly red. It isn’t glowing or anything. It’s just _so very, very, very red_.

“It _was_ warmed,” Mahanon says, “And it would have been very pleasant if you’d have just jumped in like we’d asked you to earlier. It took Kaaras and Dorian two hours to get it to the right temperature for your delicate sensibilities.” Mahanon turns his glare onto Evelyn, “Your cousin is stupidly picky about bathing temperatures. It’s all just water.”

“ _I was almost frozen to death!_ ”

“I don’t even know where to start,” Evelyn says, reaching back and pushing the bottle in Sera’s hand away from Maxwell’s mouth without looking. Sera makes a face at Evelyn’s back. “Sera, don’t experiment on my cousin - I’ve only got one tolerable one and the rest make Maxwell look like a genius.”

Mahanon and Sera gasp with horror. Ellana points at Maxwell as if to ask _are you sure?_

“Mahanon, Ellana, I appreciate you going to such lengths to follow instruction but you really _didn’t_. Figure out a way to make it so the unicorn doesn’t smell. Failing that, try to smother the odor. You’re both clever, I trust you. Maxwell, stop pretending like you’re dying. I know you just want Cassandra to come here and worry over you but it won’t work.”

-

“You can’t keep it, Herah.” Evelyn says, “It’s a terrible example for one thing.”

“You let Ellana keep four warring clans of deer that are all attempting to stage a coup and execute your collection of dracoliscs,” Herah points out, “I can keep this.”

“As Cullen so succinctly pointed out many, _many_ months ago, we aren’t _letting_ her do anything, we just can't stop this invasion of deer,” Evelyn says, “Point two, that is a wild animal you are displacing from its home. You can’t take care of it. No one here can take care of it.”

“I can learn from observation, again - Ellana and her deer,” Herah curls over her find protectively.

“Three, _it’s going to hatch into a dragon and kill us all_ ,” Evelyn isn’t desperate enough to lunge for the egg yet, but she’s getting there.

“There are peaceful dragons,” Herah protests, “I’ll teach this one better. I raised Kaaras fine. I mean look at him, all grown up and in a nice adult relationship. I’m doing great at this.”

“That’s a person.”

“Dragons are smart enough to be people, that’s incredibly narrow minded of you Evelyn and I expected better.”

“I expected this from Bull.”

“One, never compare me to Bull unless it’s in bicep size and know that I will win every time because it’s quality of quantity and mine are wonderful dispersed. Two, _never compare me to Bull_. Three, I’m keeping the egg.”

“Herah, _you can’t raise a dragon in Skyhold_.”

“Fine. Then I’ll raise it _outside_ of Skyhold.”

Evelyn groans, “You’re supposed to be the responsible and reasonable one with me. We had a _pact_. An understanding. An oath. A promise.”

“Never put down on paper and therefore void,” Herah replies instantly, “Should have gotten it on paper, Trevelyan. Only easy marks let things go by on verbal agreements. Besides. I tolerate your false lizard horses. Maybe this will show them what _real_ power looks like.”

-

“I’m not really that surprised you murdered him,” Sera says, “I’m just disappointed that you thought you had to lie to me about it.”

“Sera,” Maxwell says, “You know how much I care for your opinion. I didn’t want you to think less of me in any way.”

“You killing a prick who beats his servants and also funds Venatori isn’t going to make me think less of you,” Sera says, “Trust me, Trevelyan. There are plenty of things that make me think less of you and most of them involve your stupid mouth.”

“I’m flattered.”

Sera rolls her eyes, “Did you check his office yet?”

“Haven’t gotten the chance,” Maxwell replies, cheerily using the man’s torn robe to wipe blood off his sword, “Too busy cleaning up. You don't want to put this back in bloody, you know. It ruins the sheathe and encourages rust. I take care of my things, I have so few material possessions.”

“Fine, I’ll do it,” Sera says, “You think we’ll find anything naughty? I mean, sure, of course we will, but _how_ naughty?”

“Naughty as in incriminating evidence naughty or bedroom nonsense naughty?” Maxwell pauses, “I don’t think I’ve ever heard the word _naughty_ thrown around so much in my life. Naughty, it’s such a strange word. It even sounds odd.”

“There’s really only one kind of naughty that matters, Trevelyan,” Sera says, “Check him for keys or anything. I can pick the lock but why bother when keys are a thing that exist?”

“Pardon me not-so-good sir,” Maxwell says as he begins to rifle through the dead man’s pockets and clothing, “Honestly you’re attractive and all but I’m just here to steal all your goods like any decent young man would.”

“You’re not decent or young.”

“But I am a man, you must admit that.”


	46. Chapter 46

“Find cover, stop trying to stop me, and let me at him,” Mahanon says, “Give me two hours and I’ll get you what you need. Just sit here and wait like the dog lord you and your cousin keep pretending to be even though you’re from Ostwick.”

“I have never been more afraid of you than at this very moment,” Maxwell replies, “But I’m going to point out that this fortress is nothing but armed guards and if the even so much as think a dust bunny is out of place the alarms are going to go up faster than we can swear - and Malika can swear _very fast_ when she feels suitably motivated - “

“All the time,” Malika interrupts, “Guys these patrols are so random, I can’t even tell if there’s supposed to be a schedule or if everyone here is just that paranoid.”

“ - so I’m making the judgement call that maybe we should head back report this dramatic increase in security to the others and try again when we have a better plan and less of a risk,” Maxwell says, “Please listen to me because for once I really am making sense.”

“You’re forgetting something,” Mahanon says, “You have me and Ellana with you.”

“I know, and it’s very comforting to know that I have both the support I need and the terror that would keep me on constant edge balancing each other out, but we really ought to go back and make a new plan.”

“Trevelyan,” Mahanon speaks slowly as if talking to a particularly inattentive child, “You have _me and Ellana_. We’re Dalish.”

“I can tell from the tattoos, yes.”

“Guys, we don’t have time to be talking about obvious things,” Malika hisses, “The longer we’re here the more chance we have of being caught. I’m actually getting a headache from trying to figure out this patrol pattern. There isn’t one! There is no pattern!”

“Shut up and be ready to move,” Mahanon rolls his eyes, “Ellana take point.”

Ellana stands up, stretches, teeth flashing as she gives what is probably meant to be a comforting smile to Maxwell, and then silently lowers herself into a crouch and moves in the direction of the fortress.

“What are you doing? _What are you doing_?” Maxwell lunges to try and stop her at the same time Mahanon trips him.

“Our jobs,” Mahanon says. “Did you think the spymaster would put us in her employ if we _couldn’t_ do this? Relax. You’re worse than one o those yapping Orlesian dogs when you get excitable.”

“We’re going to be killed,” Malika groans. Maxwell concurs but Mahanon and Ellana have already gone off.

“How are you even going to get in?” Maxwell hisses a them.

“The moat,” Mahanon says, “Unless they have trained fish in there, I doubt they’d be watching that.”

“The _moat_?” Malika gapes exchanging a look of complete bafflement with Maxwell.

“The moat,” Mahanon confirms and with that the two elves start to jog off into the woods in earnest.

“Is this how they do things in Mahanon’s team?” Malika asks, “Because I’m starting to understand why their team always takes less than a week to report back, travel time included.”

“Maker, this is why your uncle always looks like he’s in pain.”

Malika comes to join him and the two of them try and watch the water for any signs of disturbance.

Nothing.

-

“Maker and Andraste above, you’re _in love with her_ ,” Maxwell gasps and Cullen feels like he flushes from his ears to his toes and it isn’t even because of the cold winds that perpetually shudder through Skyhold’s corridors.

“A little louder Trevelyan, I don’t think they heard you in Tevinter,” Bull says.

“ _You’re in love with my cousin.”_  Maxwell turns to Mahanon, “And you _knew!_ You were actively trying to set them up!”

“One, never accuse me of such actions again,” Mahanon says glaring, “Two, _everyone knew_. Why do you think it was a secret? Why do humans think these things are secret? It’s actually pathetic how much it _wasn’t a secret_.”

Cullen groans because he was really hoping that his affections for Evelyn were a little bit more subtle.

“I am horrified right now,” Maxwell says. “Cullen I trusted you. You can’t be courting my cousin, I refuse this!”

“Why?” Bull asks, “You like Rutherford and you, presumably, like your cousin.”

“How is it even your business?”

“How was it _your_ business?” Maxwell retorts.

Cullen fights down on the dread in his stomach, “Maxwell, I’m - “

“My commanding officer _and_ my cousin together?” Maxwell exclaims, “I’d never get a moment of peace in my life! The two of you would bully me into an early grave!”

“How are you so petty?” Mahanon mutters, “Listen, I’m just here to deliver this love note that was accidentally left in one of Leliana’s drop locations.”

“Love notes! Left in books of obscure poetry!” Maxwell throws his arms up and stares at the sky, “They’re courting like they’ve come out of a book! A really, really _terrible book_.”

“Varric’s book,” Bull suggests, “I’m not sure if he’s using them as a model or if it’s the other way around.”

“Demote me! Transfer me to one of Josephine’s ambassador teams! Anything!” Maxwell cries.

“I promise that I will not let my personal feelings for your cousin affect my command and leadership,” Cullen says, “Maxwell please keep your voice down. I haven’t - _I haven’t told her_.”

“You don’t need to,” Bull says, “If you’re exchanging love notes.”

“They aren’t _love notes_ ,” Cullen sputters, “They’re - they were a joke.”

That rapidly evolved into something a little more. Or so he hopes.

Mahanon puts the square of folded paper on the table and turns around, “I’m leaving. Shems are idiots. Bull?”

“Agreed,” Bull says.

“Why are you even here?”

“Maxwell wanted me to stand behind him and look intimidating,” Bull says, ducking his head as they leave Cullen’s office. Maxwell and Cullen continue to have their rather pathetic excuse of a stand off. “And I thought it’d be funny. It’s actually just painful to watch. Thanks for the save. I think my brain was starting to go numb.”


	47. Chapter 47

“Do you think I could be a bard?” Malika asks, voice soft.

Josephine glances up from the letters they’ve been writing. Malika’s eyes are focused on her work, and Josephine can tell she’s trying to be casual about the question. But Josephine knows that tone of voice, the waver in it, the brittleness.

It’s _hope_.

“Yes,” Josephine says. “Absolutely. Why wouldn’t you be able to become a bard?”

Malika lets out a rough laugh, “Because I’m loud? Because my go to weapon is a mace or a morningstar? Because I’m not subtle?”

“A bard is many things,” Josephine replies, setting her pen down, “A bard is everything. There is no reason why a bard cannot be all the things you just described, Malika. It’s a common misconception, but it is true. What matters most is knowing the dances, how to play the game and say the right words and when.”

“I thought bards are supposed to be - I don’t know - sly? Secretive? Suave?”

“Some are,” Josephine answers, “Some are not. There are as many types of bards as there are fabric swatches in Val Royeaux. If you can imagine it, it’s there. Do you have an interest in becoming a bard, Malika? I could write some letters of introduction, find a school or a mentor for you, if that is what you’d like.”

“It is,” Malika exclaims, “It’s only - I don’t know if I _can_. Or if I _should_ , even.”

Malika puts her own pen down and presses her hands flat on the table.

“My mom is Carta. Cadash is carta. And it’s not - I’m not ashamed of it. Being Carta isn’t all bad. We’re family. We do good things, too. And I wouldn’t mind going back to being Carta full time if it wasn’t - if I hadn’t. _It’s just that the world is so big_. And the Carta can only reach so far.”

“And you want to see it all,” Ah, yes, this Josephine knows so well.

“Yes!” Malika exclaims, “Yes! I want to see it all! I want to experience it all! But I should - I should go back, right? That’s what you do, right? When wars end? You go home. You go back to doing what you fought so hard to protect. You do what you would have been doing if the war wasn’t going on to start with. So - shouldn’t I go back? Shouldn’t I go back to learning the trade and helping my mother and getting ready to take over the family business?”

“It’s certainly one option,” Josephine agrees, “But Malika, your whole life is ahead of you. If you _want_ to go back to the Carta no one is stopping you, but who says you have to do it right away? I, myself, am the future head of my household, but that doesn’t mean I can’t do things like this. Malika, your mother loves you very much. I don’t think she would protest if you were to choose to enter training as a bard. There are skills there you could even bring back to working with your family, if you choose to go back.”

“That’s just it, though! What if I don’t want to go back? What if I choose not to go back? What if my mother wants me back but I don’t? What if?” Malika bursts out, “What if I don’t like it? What if I regret it? What if I’m making a mistake just talking about it right now?”

“Malika,” Josephine puts a hand on Malika’s, “Listen to me, Malika. You are very young. You may think you aren’t, but you are. The world is just beginning to open around you. There is no shame in making mistakes. There’s time for you to fix them, to try something new. You aren’t locked into your choices.”

“And what if I am?” Malika asks, face crumpling with anxiety and uncertainty that Josephine does not remember fondly from her own youth. “What if I spend so much time in bard training or in the Carta or doing a dozen other things only to find out that I don’t want it? Then what? What if it’s too late?”

“It is never too late,” Josephine squeezes Malika’s hand. “But here is my advice. Right now, as you do things - do the thing your heart wants. Do what your heart wont regret. Think on your choices and think of which one you would regret more. Think on your choices in the present and whichever your heart reaches for take.”

-

“Am I supposed to be frightened, now?” Evelyn asks, and turns to Herah, “Is Kaaras trying to frighten me, Herah? Am I supposed to pretend?”

“Probably,” Herah says and Kaaras deflates.

“Dorian and Mahanon keep telling me I ought to be more assertive,” He says shrinking down, shoulders slumping and mouth pulling into a frown. “I’m not quite sure how to do that without being mean. All the assertive people I know are mean.”

“Rude,” Herah says, “But true.”

“Does that include Dorian and Mahanon?” Evelyn asks.

“Yes,” Kaaras replies instantly, “But they’re mean to me in a very specific way that I know is teasing and for my own personal betterment, so I don’t mind it.”

“Also if they were actually mean to them I’d have run them through with that fancy sword that made one single appearance and suddenly disappeared after it left your hands, by now,” Herah points out. “Where _is_ that sword? Where did it come from?”

“I’m almost entirely certain we found it in the castle’s dungeons,” Evelyn answers, “And that it’s somewhere around there right now. It was the most impressive thing they had on hand, apparently. Kaaras, you realize that when I ask you if you want another cup of tea, you don’t have to be _assertive_ about saying no, right? Because I’m almost entirely certain that isn’t what they mean then you should be more assertive.”

“No, no,” Herah says before Kaaras can say anything, “Let him go on. He was starting to ramble about how tea leads to death and I want to hear where this is going to take him. I want to tell the rest of the Valo-kas about it.”

“I’m just not good at talking,” Kaaras says, “My head just goes in so many directions the longer I talk, it’s like I’m just waiting to stick my foot in it every time I open my mouth. I sometimes wonder why I even talk at all.”

“That’s not true,” Evelyn says, pointedly _not_ pouring him a cup of tea as she goes to refill Herah’s teacup. “You’ve come up with absolutely brilliant plans and your papers are phenomenal.”

“And yet you dismiss all my theories so easily.”

“I said they were phenomenal, not _correct_ , Kaaras. Don’t push it.”


	48. Chapter 48

“Before you kill Blackwall - because undoing choosing to kill someone is significantly harder than choosing _not_ to kill someone - I’m going to point out something that will make you very unhappy.”

Maxwell holds up a training shield in a silent offer. Cassandra sighs and goes back towards the armory to get another one.

“The Inquisition is a place of new starts and new beginnings,” Maxwell says, “You said it yourself. What you wanted to create in the world was a place where people helped each other with open hands and open hearts. Second chances are part of that, Cassandra.”

“Second chances?” Cassandra repeats, “What that - that _pretender_ has done, continued to do, doesn’t warrant a second chance. He _lied_ Maxwell. He murdered people and then ran and then _lied for years_.”

“And then he turned himself in,” Maxwell points out. “Doesn’t that take some kind of courage? Some kind of goodness? He wants redemption.”

“And we should just _give it to him_? What about the people who died for him? The people he killed?” Cassandra pauses by the training swords before deciding against it.

Maxwell offered to give her an outlet for her energy, not to be beaten black and blue with bruises. And as good as Maxwell is, Cassandra’s has years of training and experience over him.

“Redemption isn’t the same thing as forgiveness,” Maxwell says. “He could spend the rest of his life redeeming himself and never be forgiven. Or he could be forgiven without ever doing anything to correct what he’s done wrong.”

Cassandra reluctantly sees the point in this. She gestures for Maxwell to get ready. Her bones are beginning to thrum with the need to move and collide and have something solid _stop her_. Or at least _try_ to stop her.

“I think you’re upset more about the fact that he hurt you,” Maxwell says and then grunts, barely catching himself in time as she collides into him. Maxwell fixes his stance and pushes back against her.

“He did not hurt me,” Cassandra replies.

“You thought of him as a friend and then he revealed that the person you had come to know and trust was based, in part on a lie,” Maxwell says. “I’m mad, too, you know.”

“And yet you lobby for his pardon. Tell me, Maxwell. Freeing him, bringing him back here - is it worth it? Tell me, really. _Is it worth it_?”

“Is he worth it, you mean,” Maxwell grunts and they push apart. Cassandra raises her shield jerks her chin outwards at him for him to come at her. Maxwell adjusts his grip on the shield and checks his weight before pushing forward and hitting against her with a jarring impact that sets her teeth on edge. “I don’t think that’s something we get to decide, Cassandra. I think that’s something for the Maker and it isn’t our role to say.”

-

“Cassandra, my cousin may at times be annoying or overly dramatic, but he’s a good man,” Evelyn says. Cassandra pauses, turning to look at her.

“You didn’t call me out here to actually stand watch while you relieve yourself, did you?” Cassandra says. Evelyn raises an eyebrow.

“Cassandra, we’ve fought Venatori, demons, Red Templars, rogue mages, assassins, mercenaries, wildlife, and dragons. No, I did not ask you to come away from camp to protect me while I relieve myself. I asked you out here so we could talk in private. Away from everyone else - away from Skyhold.”

It’s Cassandra’s turn to raise an eyebrow.

“This is not a subject for spies and saboteurs,” Evelyn says. “Cassandra. Maxwell is a good man. He has his insecurities, his doubts, his flaws, but overall he is a good man. If you well and truly object to being with him he _will_ stop his advances. He respects you deeply and that’s part of why he would wish to court you.”

“I know,” Cassandra says. “And I have not - I have not said _no_.”

“But you haven’t said _yes_ , either,” Evelyn points out. “And the _yes_ is just as important as a _no_.”

Evelyn’s face softens, “Regardless of whether you say _yes_ or _no_ , you do know that you are still one of my most trusted and dear companions?”

Cassandra can’t help but feel something a little like relief. Not a lot, just a little. She didn’t realize it was something she was actually worried about. The relief surprises her.

“Thank you, Evelyn,” Cassandra says, “That means - that means a lot to hear, actually.”

“I didn’t call you out here just to tell you that,” Evelyn continues, “I also wanted to tell you - if you do decide to say _yes_. Or even if you two decide to be close friends instead. Maxwell would die for you.”

Cassandra blinks.

“He would die for you,” Evelyn repeats slowly, “I think that’s one of his flaws. Maxwell will die for the people he chooses. For the causes he chooses. Maxwell looks at his life and will tend to weigh it lighter than most other things. It’s - it’s admirable, the courage to unflinchingly put your neck to the blade for a cause you believe in. I think you know that.”

“He put himself between you and the rest of the world,” Cassandra says in response. The steady and unwavering _faith_ in his eyes was noteworthy, even when it was set against Cassandra’s - obviously - wrong conclusions. “I know.”

“But it’s important for him to know that he should live, too,” Evelyn continues. “Loving something, being passionate about something, caring for something - it doesn’t always mean dying for it. A lot of the time it hurts most the ones left behind. I think you know that.”

Cassandra lets out a slow breath.

“Yes.”

“Did you hear about the lyrium?” Evelyn asks.

Cassandra nods.

“I did not think it was my place to say anything.” Cullen had told her about it, afterwards. He wanted advice. Cassandra was at once both flattered and conflicted: flattering to be trusted and consulted for such an important matter, conflicted in that she felt like it was not something she should have heard.

“Then you know how little Maxwell regards his own self,” Evelyn says. “What I’m asking is - value him. Since he won’t.”


	49. Chapter 49

“Evelyn.”

“ _Maker’s breath - ,“_ Evelyn clutches her chest, sucking in a deep breath as she stares at the two. “I liked it better when you weren’t talking and neither of you presented a unified front in trying to give me a _heart attack_.”

Ellana and Mahanon are both leaning over her in the dead on night and this is half of why she and Cullen don’t share a bed. Among other things. And. Erm. Other things.

“ _Evelyn_ ,” Ellana repeats. “It will stay.”

“What’s going to stay?” Evelyn asks.

“ _The Pride of Arlathan_ ,” Mahanon intones and both elves look off in a corner of Evelyn’s room -

“ _How the hell did you get that up here_?” Evelyn sits up, both elves neatly dodging her as she gapes at the giant horned _stag_ standing on her balcony and observing the early morning mountains as if he were a king looking at his domain. It’s a completely regal and amazingly picturesque scene.

The last time Evelyn had animals on her balcony they were dead goats that were flung at Skyhold by angry Avaar.

This marks a drastic improvement, but it’s an improvement on a scale of things that _shouldn’t be happening_.

“You do not _get_ the Pride of Arlathan to do anything, Evelyn,” Ellana says, “You _request_ and they _oblige_.”

“Why did you request that it come up here?”

“The Pride of Arlathan is staying,” Ellana repeats. “We are telling you this.”

“No,” Evelyn says, sitting up and pulling on her dressing gown, “Oh, no. _No._ Do you know how many types of deer herds we have on - on _patrol_ around Skyhold, Ellana?”

“Four,” Mahanon says. “A herd of Brecilian Sure-Foots that have claimed the rocky eastern slopes, the Tirashan Swiftwind that’s taken the southern walls, a small clan of Wild Harts that have carved out the western paths, and the Red Harts that came with us from Haven. Not including the Greater Frostback Elk - three in number - that have been patrolling the northern summits and clashing with the Brecilians for grazing grounds.”

“And of course, the Royal Sixteen who’s claimed the stables,” Ellana says. “Don’t forget him.”

“He’s the Royal Sixteen, sister, I _will never forget_.”

“He’s not staying,” Evelyn says, putting as much firmness into her voice as she can from teaching back in the Circle. It’s worked so far. She’s gotten countries to listen to her with that voice.

“You’ll _purchase_ ornery lizards that drool but you won’t allow the _Pride of Arlathan_ to willingly graze at your door? Evelyn my opinion of you is lowering as we speak.”

“It wasn’t a question, Evelyn,” Ellana says, “It was a _courtesy_. He’s staying. I am telling you this as your Keeper.”

“My _what_?” Evelyn stares at Ellana who calmly gazes back.

“You’re a member of clan Lavellan. You may be Inquisitor but I’m clan Keeper. Mahanon as my second in command and Hunter supports my decision. You are over ruled. Introduce yourself to our new clan mate.”

Evelyn considers arguing. She considers pointing out the many flaws in those statements.

But Ellana just continues to _look into her_ and there’s something about Ellana’s voice - perhaps it’s because she uses it for words so rarely - that commands it be listened to.

“Does the Pride of Arlathan have a _name?”_ Evelyn asks, resigned to this.

Mahanon and Ellana make noises of matching insult.

“Of _course_ he has a name,” Mahanon scoffs.

Evelyn waits.

“And it is?”

“He hasn’t deemed us ready to know it,” Mahanon says, “We have to _earn it_ , Evelyn.”

-

“Why do you always do that?” Malika snaps, turning onto Solas. “ _Why do you always do this_?”

Solas blinks down at her, startled, “Excuse me?”

“You always take beautiful things - lovely things, wonderful things, _new things_ \- and you ruin them! You make it sad!” Malika exclaims, “You look at the Dalish and the wonderful things they’ve done to survive and to craft their lives after everything that’s happened to them and you call them ignorant and foolish and stupid! You look at the city elves and you do the same! You look at all the people who are trying to change and learn and you just see stagnation and ruined efforts. Every time we go someplace new or beautiful you talk about how in dreams its better, how it was good _before_ the rest of us got to it.”

“Malika,” Kaaras whispers softly, Malika shakes his hand off.

“No! I’m tired of it! Just because _you_ ’ve seen everything in _dreams_ and are so much older than me doesn’t mean you have to ruin it. Why can’t things just _be_ as they are? Why can’t you just look at something as it is _today_ instead of pouring over what it was a hundred years ago?” Malika gestures outwards, “Look how beautiful it is where we are. It’s beautiful _now_. Why can’t you just appreciate how it is _right now_? You bury and burn the dead so they aren’t here anymore. They aren’t supposed to be in your face all the time. _You’re supposed to let them go_.”

-

“Evelyn, this is a terrible idea,” Varric says.

“Listen to the man who’s seen bad ideas turn into novels before his very eyes,” Maxwell says, “It’s a _bad idea_.”

“Evelyn, I think that the boy is either deluded or this may be a demon,” Cassandra adds on. “I agree with Varric. This is a bad idea.”

“Someone get those words down,” Varric says, “What time is it? Lavellan do that weird time thing you do.”

Lavellan shoots Varric an annoyed look, “You mean reading the shadows to get time?”

Lavellan turns back to Evelyn, “If you want to track the ram I’ll assist you, but I agree with the others. The boy is either imagining a talking ram, or willing a normal ram into having magical properties like some sort of imaginary friend - in which case I can grab a ram from the hills and give it to him and he’ll never know the difference. Or it’s a demon.”

“Why is everything automatically _demons_ with you lot?” Evelyn says. “Can’t we just help the poor boy? We’re going to find Ser Woolsely.”

“That is the dumbest name for a household ram,” Maxwell says, “The demon inside of it probably can’t wait to be free from such indignity of a name.”

“We’re killing it when we find it,” Cassandra says.

“No, it’s not a demon and we’re returning him to his family,” Evelyn says. “There are problems that can be solved without killing things and not everything is _demons_.”

“Those are demons,” Mahanon says, jerking his chin past them. “And I suggest we murder them. Or does murder only count if you’re doing it on humans?”


	50. Chapter 50

"I am not helping you - how did you phrase it, Malika?”

“Set up.”

“I am not helping you _set up_ Mahanon, Kaaras, and Dorian,” Solas says, walking past Malika to finish shelving books. Malika follows after him, carrying a few books he’s regretting asking for her help with.

“But why not? You like them.”

“I am fond of Mahanon, I have a scholarly respect for Kaaras,” Solas corrects her, “I _tolerate_ Dorian.”

“You say that but I know you’d miss him if he was gone,” Malika teases, grinning.

Solas focuses on the task at hand, “How, exactly, did Ellana pull you into this?”

“She makes a valid point,” Malika says.

Solas turns to give Malika a look. “She doesn’t speak.”

“She made a valid point using Bull as her interpreter,” Malika says, “Point is - I think they’d be a cute trio and you’re strategically positioned between the three of them and can help a lot.”

“ _No_ ,” Solas repeats, pausing as he takes one of the books she’s holding, “Have you read this one, Malika? I believe it would be quite interesting to you. I recall Dagna had some extraordinary insights on this particular text and the various ways it could be interpreted.”

“Really? Neat! Thanks, I’ll give it a read,” Malika says, shifting the books to one arm so she can take the other one back and shuffle it underneath the rest, “Wait, don’t distract me with learning!”

“Ah, but learning is never a distraction. Rather - it is the opposite,” Solas replies, “Tell me, how did your discussion go with de Fer concerning the material base of runes go the other day? I admit I was rather intrigued when I heard the Inquisitor bring it up in discussion, though I was rather distracted at the time to consider asking for more details.”

“By distracted, do you mean arguing about the difference between a being of energy and a being electricity? Well. It _went_. I think I’ll need to ask Dagna some more clarification questions, though.”

-

“Son of a b - “

“ _Language_ ,” Maxwell says, as Evelyn pants, hands on her knees as she glares at the golden ram that’s just _watching_ them from the top of a nearby hill.

“Shut up, Maxwell.”

“What was it you were saying,” Mahanon crouches on top of some rocks, “About not everything being demons?”

Evelyn throws an arm out and points at him, “You. Not a word.”

Mahanon examines his nails, an air of _I told you so_ practically _rolling_ off of him.

“It’s a demon,” Cassandra says. It’s unfair how _none of these people_ are out of breath.

Even Varric isn’t out of breath, he’s just jotting things down in a notebook.

“If this makes it to your next serial,” Evelyn says, “I want you to write out the part where I’m obviously out of breath and dying from chasing a fucking demon around a field like some novice.”

“Got it,” Varric says, sitting at the base of Mahanon’s rocks. Mahanon glances down at him, deems his note taking either unimportant or uninteresting, and starts picking at the ends of his braid.

“So, murder?” Maxwell asks, “And gosh am I glad I ran into you guys on my way here.”

“What _were_ you doing out here?” Cassandra asks.

“Well. Edric and Herah abandoned me like cruel lovers,” Maxwell says, “And I felt lonely and cross so I was on my way back to an Inquisition camp when I saw you all running about a field chasing a ram and I got worried that you’d turned into really, really suspicious farmers of the most detestable and disgusting sort.”

Cassandra glares at him.

“ _Joking_ ,” Maxwell raises his hands and takes a step behind Evelyn. “ _Joking_.”

“Murder,” Evelyn says, standing up straight and putting her hands on her hips, leaning back and sucking in a deep breath, “ _I”m going to murder that fucking goat_.”

“Demon,” Everyone corrects.

“Demon! Yes! Are you happy? Everything is demons!”

“Why would I be happy that everything is demons?” Maxwell asks. Evelyn kicks back and hits him in the shin without looking.

“But what about the idiot boy?” Mahanon asks, “Should I work on finding a replacement?”

“Forget it,” Evelyn says. “We’re just killing the damn thing and telling him the truth.”

-

“Joke’s on you, I am too old to give a _shit_ ,” Edric says as Maxwell stares at the fight with increasing horror.

“You mean, you’re so close to kicking the bucket you don’t care if everyone else goes down, too?” Maxwell ducks in time to avoid getting a flagon to the face. It crashes against the wall behind him, splattering wood and ale. “That’s incredibly depressing and cavalier of you at the same time, I would approve of the attitude if it weren’t for the fact that we are literally _tearing up this entire inn_.”

“You only live once,” Edric says, taking a long drink from his flagon and neatly dodging a dinner plate. “I’ve seen things.”

“I believe you.”

“This? In comparison? Nothing. I saw my sister give birth and let me tell you - it wasn’t pretty.”

“Is giving birth _ever_ pretty?” Maxwell frowns, wrinkling his nose, “I mean - I don’t think I’ve ever heard of giving birth as a pretty thing. There’s blood and crying and various other bodily fluids and a lot of screaming and then a baby rips itself out of - “

Edric is going a very distinct shade of gray-green.

Maxwell, wisely, stops his description there.

“My sister crushed three people’s hands _before_ she had to push,” He says quietly. “They were never the same afterwards.”

Maxwell winces.

“And she kicked someone so hard that they still haven’t woken up,” Edric curls over his flagon, a very disturbing _haunted_ look in his eyes. “And then came the pushing. _The pushing_.”

“Alright, come back to me,” Maxwell says, “Because I need to stop this bar fight otherwise I’m going to get blamed for it - never mind the fact that I wasn’t here for how it started and that I arrived about three minutes ago after securing our lodging for the night. I have a feeling that we’re going to be kicked out of this village.”

“Is that gut instinct or your keen intellect, Trevelyan? Also - who’s winning? I’m scared to look.”

“Well. Ellana’s gotten in a very good uppercut for someone hanging _upside down_ from a rope slung over a ceiling beam. I don’t know how you uppercut from that position but good on her. And Herah is. _Herah_.”

“Are all your patrols like this?” Edric asks. “Should I be worried about Malika?”

“Are you kidding? I once saw Malika throw two men at the same time. Why would you ever worry about Malika?”


	51. Chapter 51

“Take it slow,” Mahanon murmurs, Kaaras can _hear_ his smile, “You’ll scare him.”

“Scare him? _Scare him_?” Dorian repeats, incredulous, turning away from Kaaras to stare at Mahanon, who’s chin is hooked over Kaaras’ shoulder, “I am being faced down by a Qunari and a Dalish elf, I’m the one who should be terrified.”

“Ah, but Kaaras’ is practically a child,” Mahanon muses.

“I am not,” Kaaras says, then winces, because of course he sounds like one when he says that.

“I spent months with Ellana laughing at me because I couldn’t tell if you were fond of me or not,” Mahanon says, breath warm against Kaaras’ cheek as he reacts an arm over Kaaras’ other shoulder to lightly hook his fingers into Dorian’s collar and pull him closer. “And even then I had to bait you into kissing me.”

“I - “ Kaaras stammers, “I - uh - I didn’t - I was - _I thought I was very obvious?”_

“Ah yes, the staring and blushing from afar, classic flirtation,” Dorian muses, “Personally, I thought you were just very bad at concealing your distaste for the Tevinter Pariah.”

“I don’t!” Kaaras’ voice clicks, “I - _No!_ ”

How is Kaaras so bad at this? _How_?

He can’t tell if he’s incredibly lucky - in that somehow he’s still managed to wind up in this relationship and situation (surrounded by incredibly supportive, though fantastically insane friends); or perhaps he’s incredibly unlucky in that no matter how lucky he was to be in this situation he still manages to fumble it this awfully.

“Aw,” Dorian’s mouth is laughing on his cheek, close to the corner of Kaaras’ lip, “You are incredible. Absolutely incredible. Endearing and incredible.”

“Can we go back to kissing?” Kaaras says, “I’m bad at kissing but at least I’m not making a complete fool of myself. Can we do that?”

“You aren’t bad at kissing,” Mahanon says, nuzzling Kaaras’ neck, “I like hearing you talk. Did you know you’re one of the few people I can stand hearing speaking?”

“Am I one of those people as well?” Dorian asks.

Mahanon hums, other hand curling around Kaaras’ back, fingers lightly tapping on his chest. Each tap of his fingers makes bubbling shivers spring over Kaaras’ skin. He wonders if he’ll ever feel less awkward, less gangly.

He wonders if Mahanon and Dorian ever feel as he does.

Does he make him feel that way?

The two of them don’t seem like it. They seem so confident - so _sure_.

“Who knows?” Mahanon answers and Dorian gasps with fake hurt. Kaaras spreads his palm over Dorian’s back.

“I like listening to you talk,” Kaaras says.

Dorian smiles, leaning in to kiss him - warmly, softly, _laughing_ , “My favorite Qunari.”

“No, _my_ favorite Qunari,” Mahanon says, running a hand through Dorian’s hair and mussing it - pushing Dorian back enough to press a quick kiss to the edge of Kaaras’ mouth before moving back, hiding behind Kaaras’ back to kiss the nape of his neck, humming.

“Everyone’s favorite Qunari,” Dorian says, arms circling Kaara’s waist, pressing him closer to Kaaras’ front. Kaaras can feel Mahanon pressing closer from the back, laughing silently under his breath. “Shame we couldn’t say you’re everyone’s favorite elf.”

“That’s fine,” Mahanon says, “As long as I’m yours.”

-

“So, your Jennies turned up nothing?” Edric asks, sitting down on the edge of a fountain.

Sera sits next to him, “Nope. Anything Carta side?”

“Nothing. It looks like the fire and burglary are completely different things,” Edric says. “It just sounds strange. An Inquisition spy’s house was robbed and then set on fire? And both are separate things?”

“Sounds off, something’s rank,” Sera’s knee bounces up and down, “Can’t tell what. Dunno who this is - Spymaster lady says possible Chantry stiff-dresses, but doesn’t sound Chantry-like to burn an entire row of houses down to cover.”

“Well. Depends on the Chantry,” Edric points out, “Some of the people in the Chantry really shouldn’t be in the Chantry. I would say Tevinter sympathizers on this one since we’re so close to the border - but I that doesn’t seem quite right, either.”

“Too sloppy,” Sera shakes her head, frowning. “Also this place is fucking empty. Lucky the no one was in the house when it went up. Ghost town - that’s what happens when you raid for slaves, I guess. So maybe not sympathizers?”

“It just seems too damn strange to be complete coincidences. And we don’t know what was stolen because everything burned,” Edric runs a hand through his hair, “Ugh, this isn’t my thing.”

“Well it isn’t mine either,” Sera says, “But we’re what the Inquisition’s got right now, so suck it and deal, yeah?”

“Yeah,” Edric sighs, pushing to his feet with a low groan, “How old do you have to be to retire?”

“Dead, probably,” Sera says, standing, “Now let’s figure out were the hell people go in this place for fun. People talk when they’re having fun, right? Money and tits and drinks and all that. There’s got to be someplace like that ‘round here. There’s nothing else to get people to stay.”

“That’s probably rude to the people that live here.”

“Oh yeah?” Sera gestures around to the empty streets, “Wonder who’s gonna tell me otherwise. Probably all at the tits and drinks right now. Let’s go. Empty streets don’t look right; gives me the shivers.”

-

“So, you’re hiding?” Evelyn asks.

“No,” Herah says, “I’ve made a strategic retreat to regroup and strategize about my next course of action.”

Evelyn glances at Malika.

“She’s hiding.”

“What did you do?” Evelyn asks, “Should I be hiding as well?”

“No,” Malika says, “I think you’re fine. Herah’s just scared to meet her in-laws.”

Evelyn blinks, “What?”

“Josephine’s siblings have come to visit, and now she’s hiding because she’s nervous,” Malika says, “She’s being a baby.”

“I am _not_.”

“Herah, you’re hiding in the _basement_ ,” Evelyn says. “The only reason I’m down here is because some of the kitchen staff are scared to come down here because they said they heard strange noises so I came to check it out.”

“I’m not hiding!” Herah says. “I’m trying to figure out how to make myself look like a good choice. Obviously Josephine chose me, so I have to make it look like a good thing, right? Right? Evelyn give me a crash course on noble manners.”

“Herah, you’re fine. Like you said, Josephine chose you. Besides, you charm all the visiting nobles.”

“But they aren’t looking at me at suitors for their _sister_ ,” Herah groans.

“Yeah, they’re looking at you with the lowest standard of _barbarian savage_ ,” Malika points out, “Josephine’s parents would at least look at you like a person.”


	52. Chapter 52

“I’d marry your uncle,” Mahanon says, passing his sister the water skin. Malika coughs, spitting up her own water, throwing the skin at Maxwell.

“ _What_?”

“If only there was some way to record this event, some way to imprint the sounds that are coming from his mouth so that they could be replayed at a later event when I need reminding that there are powers beyond our understanding and to prove that this event happened,” Maxwell says, staring off into the dry fields in front of them. “Blackwall, what do you think?”

“You should probably ask one of Varric’s friends, the one who made the crossbow, and such,” Blackwall says, making the excellent decision to ignore what’s going on between the elves and Malika.

Mahanon shrugs as Malika stares at him, “He isn’t unhandsome. He’s not destitute. He doesn’t seem like the type to abuse his partner. I would marry your uncle. You’re the one who was worried about his future prospects since he’s a young widower. I thought I was being reassuring when I said that. No? Ignore me, then.”

“I can’t _ignore_ you saying that you’d marry my uncle,” Malika says, looking at Ellana as if the woman would back her up.

Ellana shrugs, taking a sip from the water skin and handing it back to Mahanon to close.

“Not you, too,” Malika says, “I mean - yes, good. I - I want him to get remarried and it’s good to know that I’m not the only one who sees how great he is, but _no_. Really _no. Ancestors_ , Dorian and Kaaras would cry with _laughter_. _”_

 _“_ Or possibly incredulity,” Maxwell points out.

“You’re the one who asked this question to begin with,” Mahanon says, sounding a little annoyed, “Why are you upset with me because I answered honestly?”

“It’s on the back of my eyes now,” Malika says, “The worst part is that mom would be so happy - _she would love to have you as an in-law_. Stone and Ancestors and Paragons, _I can’t unsee this._ Uncle Mahanon, oh no.”

“One,” Mahanon says, “Never call me that again. Two, your mother sounds terrifying and I never want to meet her.”

“Why? You’d get along so well.”

“Do you know who else she’d get along with?” Mahanon points at his sister.

“ _Oh_ ,” Maxwell and Malika and Blackwall all say. “Good point.”

Ellana gives them all an annoyed look, huffs, and turns away.

_-_

_“_ I thought we were supposed to be the good ones,” Mahanon says to Herah, who stares at the body at their feet. Mahanon wrinkles his nose at the pool of blood that ends just at the tips of her boots. “Isn’t this a shemlen building of commerce?”

“It’s a bank,” Herah says, carefully nudging who probably was - at one point - a teller. “This is called a bank, humans and dwarves come here to deposit money and things like that.”

“So there’s a lot of money here?” Mahaon asks, quickly and sharply prodding the body with his toe. “It’s still warm. Are you sure it’s a dead body?”

“It isn’t breathing,” Herah says. “Then again - I didn’t kill them, did you?”

“No,” Mahanon answers. “Besides, you came inside before I did.”

“So it’s possible that someone came here before us and was really bad at trying to kill this guy,” Herah says, “And they didn’t finish the job.”

“Messy work,” Mahanon wrinkles his nose, looking at the blood around them, “Do you have glass?”

“You want to check if the guy is breathing?”

“Yes.”

“I don’t have glass. We should probably run before someone says we did this. We should report this to the nearest Inquisition post so we can investigate properly.”

“Wait,” Mahanon holds his hand out, stopping Herah as she moves towards the back entrance, “Let’s split up. Also, use this to clean your boots.”

“Thanks,” Herah leans on Mahanon’s shoulder as she wipes the bottom of her boots with the coarse cloth Mahanon hands her, “Split up?”

“When they see us leave here they’ll see a Qunari and and elf - best guess as to which one killed the human at the bank? Or tried to? If we split up they'll have to pick one of us to follow.”

“Smart, I’m guessing that you’ll be going by rooftop?”

“Yes, is there any other way to go?”

Herah snorts, “If you’re a normal person, the roads are fine.”

“How dull,” Mahanon shrugs, taking the bloodied cloth from her and tossing it onto a plant, “I’ll see you by noon.”

-

Maxwell quickly dives into a haystack.

Evelyn stares at the space where he was, then leans out the window, “I think he passed, Maxwell. There’s no one there. You’re being ridiculous.”

“Is he gone?” Maxwell whispers, “Are you sure he’s gone?”

“There is no way that Mahanon could tell that you were mocking him if he wasn’t here. I swear he isn’t here, you’re fine. Stop being such a baby,” Evelyn says, “Get out of the hay, you’re being more peculiar than normal.”

“Listen, Evelyn, I know he’s your best friend and all, but that’s not going to stop him from making me disappear in the middle of the night to prove a point.”

“It’s a little ridiculous how scared you are of him.”

“I’ve worked hard to condition him that way.”

Maxwell shrieks and Evelyn’s hands spark bright green.

“Do you have to do that?” Evelyn asks, making room and offering Mahanon space next to her on the floor by the window.

Mahanon crouches next to her, reaching and poking the haystack, “No. But I will, anyway.”

“Please, my heart can’t take this kind of torture,” Maxwell groans, drawing out, “You and Cassandra and Ellana and - you know what? I am surrounded on all sides. I don’t even know how I’ve made it this far.”

“Evelyn’s good graces and your mildly appeasing face,” Mahanon says.

“You think my face is appeasing?”

“The illusion is ruined once you open your mouth,”  Mahanon replies.

“He’s telling the truth,” Evelyn agrees, “You do look quite handsome, Maxwell. Then you open your fat mouth and give everyone about you a headache.”


	53. Chapter 53

“Evelyn!”

Evelyn winces as she hears Maxwell’s voice coming closer, Mahanon gives her a clear and deeply unhappy look.

“He’s loud,” Mahanon says.

“That's one of the least insulting things anyone has ever called him, so thank you.”

Mahanon’s eyes narrow.

“Are you reevaluating our friendship?” Evelyn asks as Maxwell breaks through the scarce underbrush of the tree lines that surround Haven.

“I’m reevaluating what I’m going to bring back to the Quartermaster for supper,” Mahanon says, grunting as he pushes up to his knees, ignoring Maxwell entirely as he trudges past him in search of quieter hunting grounds.

“He’s a cheerful fellow,” Maxwell says, offering Evelyn a hand up, “What were you two doing? I’m not sure if I approve of your friendship or not - you both are terrifying enough separate but now you two can influence each other most unduly.”

“You have Ellana on your side,” Evelyn points out, “So it balances. Mostly. He _was_ going to show me how he uses snares, but now you’ve gone and scared whatever he was going to catch off and I suppose I’ll have to wait for another time to learn.”

“That actually sounds quite fascinating - when he eventually shows you, will you show me? Wait - hold that thought. That’s not what I’m here for,” Maxwell shakes his head and then brandishes a letter at her, looking abruptly cross, “ _Evelyn_.”

“ _Maxwell_ ,” Evelyn parrots back in the same tone of voice.

Maxwell waves the letter - Evelyn catches what looks like the Trevelyan wax seal on it and grimaces, “This is your fault! You just had to go and become infamous!”

“What’s my fault?”

“Listen to this! This absurdity!” Maxwell clears his throat and opens the intimidatingly thick sheaf of folded paper, “ _Now that you are in the key position of proximity to the successor of the house of Trevelyan -_ “

“Successor? _Since when_?”

“ - it is time for you _stop your foolishness and idle gawking and step into a role of support during these trying times of conflict_ ,” Maxwell’s voice rises a few octaves towards the end as he shakes the paper in his hand. He’s grown a bright, almost dangerous red. “Evelyn _do you hear this?_ This - this _idiocy_ goes on to say that I shouldn’t be getting in your way. Get in your way! _Get in your way!_ That I am _impeding your path to greatness!_ Do you _hear this_?”

Evelyn grabs the letter out of his hands and starts reading. She can feel her own skin heat up and she has to quickly double check her own fingers multiple times to make sure she isn’t actually smoking and burning the letters.

“These people are impossible!” Evelyn bursts out, “Infuriating!”

“ _I know!_ ” Maxwell throws his arms up, letting out a wordless bellow at the sky, “It’s the end of the world and I still can’t escape being hounded by the rest of our family! I swear to you they sent me to the Conclave in the hopes that I’d get killed by someone and they could write me off.”

Evelyn starts ripping up the letter, “Absolutely ridiculous. Fantasy, all of it. _Ludicrous!_ I won’t even dignify - _you_ won’t dignify this letter with a response. Ugh! You know what kind of response we should send? _Mahanon_. Mahanon is his own response.”

“Oh, yes, _yes_ ,” Maxwell claps his hands together and laughs, “I love it. Can you imagine Great Aunt Geraldine’s face? Maybe she’ll finally breathe her last hate filled breath and expire on the spot. _Oh, it’s terrible to wish death on someone, but it feels so good_.”

-

“Shhh,” Herah says, slowly putting her hands on either side of Edric’s face, “ _Shhhh_.”

“No more yelling,” Malika says, taking Mahanon’s hand in left hand and Maxwell’s in her right, attempting to join them together as the two resist, “No more screaming. It’s calm down time. Relaxing time. Pretend you’re Ellana time.”

“Trust me,” Mahanon says, digging his heels into the ground as Malika forces him to hold Maxwell’s hand, “You don’t want to do that last part. Ellana doesn’t want to be Ellana.”

Ellana nods from where she’s lying down with a wet cloth over her face.

“It’s quiet time,” Herah says, reaching over and putting a hand over Mahanon’s entire face. “We all need some quiet time.”

Kaaras is tied to the floor and looks wide-eyed with panic. Evelyn is unconscious and lying down next to him.

“Is this a ploy to eliminate us? Is this because I’m the pretty one?” Maxwell asks as Malika forces him and Mahanon to sit down next to each other, tying their hands together, “Why are you doing this?”

“It’s get along time,” Malika says, “All of us are going to lie here and relax and enjoy each other’s company.”

“We’re going to take some deep and calming breaths,” Herah says, forcing Edric’s hands to hold a teacup, “We’re going to clear our minds and our hearts, and we are going to _enjoy it_.”

Herah turns to look Mahanon directly in the eye, using the hand on his face to grip his head and force him to look her in the eye.

Mahanon’s shoulders hunch, almost like a cat trying to rear back but Herah’s hand forces his head to hold still. He bares his teeth.

“I _said_ ,” Herah’s voice dips low, “We’re going to _enjoy it_.”

Mahanon goes limp and Herah releases him. Mahanon immediately glares at Maxwell, “We speak of this to no one.”

“Agreed, I’d offer to shake on it but I don’t want to be touching you anymore than I already am,” Maxwell says, “You have a fine body of course, and I respect you and all but -“

Mahanon’s eyes are slits.

“But I’m also deeply afraid of you at all times.”

Mahanon purrs.

Maxwell turns and whispers at Malika, “ _Help_.”

Malika has already moved on to checking the rope she has tied around Ellana’s ankle to make sure she doesn’t escape anywhere.

“Enjoying things so far, Pearl?”

Ellana makes a _soso_ gesture with her hand, then gestures at the wet cloth over her face and gives an enthusiastic hand wave.

“Yeah, we thought you’d like it. Calming, right? Josephine suggested that we soak it in some scented stuff. Vivienne let us use her fancy oils.”


	54. Chapter 54

“Hate you?” Mahanon’s eyebrows rise in apparent confusion.

Malika nods, “It’s alright if you do. A lot of people don’t like me. There are a lot of reasons and I try not to let them get to me. Mom always said not to waste time or energy on people who don’t like you because they’re probably wrong. I figure that since we’ll be working together a lot and stuff it’d be better if I knew upfront. You seem like the up front type of person, I think, and I’m not usually wrong about this kind of thing. So - so why not get it out of the way? Clear the air and stuff?”

“You think I hate you,” Mahanon cocks his head to the side, Malika would think of a dog if he weren’t so sharp eyed and something distinctly more - er, well. Less dog.

The dog description would work on Maxwell or maybe even Kaaras.

On Mahanon something about the descriptor of _dog_ or _canine_ can’t find a handhold on the sharp edges and smooth planes of his face. Those words - that somehow seem warm and a little eccentrically ticklish slide straight off and fall flat.

Not even the word _wolf_ or _wolfish_ could be applied to the dimensions of Mahanon’s person.

“Well - you seem to not like a lot of things,” Malika says slowly, “And like very few things. And honestly it’s hard to tell which one is which so I’m hedging my best.”

Mahanon hums, a low sound that makes Malika’s skin tingle. As if it were deeper than skin.

“I _dislike_ a lot of things,” Mahanon says. “I hate a very precious few things. I don’t have the energy to _hate_ things, in general. And there are many things that aren’t worth my opinions or emotions. I settle for _dislike_ or _annoyance_ \- on the rare occasion _irritation_.”

“So do you dislike, are annoyed by, or are irritated by me?”

“At times annoyed, most things will eventually annoy me,” Mahanon answers immediately, “My sister is almost always at the top of that list. But in general - when she is not being particularly willful to her own detriment, I am fond of her.”

Mahanon tilts his head in the opposite direction, “You, I do not hate. I am only - occasionally - annoyed by you. Usually in combination with Maxwell or Sera or Varric. Overall I find you interesting. If I were to use Evelyn’s words, under extreme duress, I would even name you as a _friend_.”

“ _Really_?”

“My sister often complains I am very bad at expressing anything,” Mahanon’s voice is dry, but his mouth somehow seems more animated. “Unless that thing is my displeasure. I agree. I do not hate you, Malika. You’re too clever and too enjoyable to watch when you baffle Solas and your uncle for me to dislike on as a general baseline.”

“You know what? I’ll take that,” Malika says, grinning. She quickly punches his shoulder. “You’re not as scary as Maxwell makes you sound, you know?”

Mahanon rubs his arm, “I take it all back immediately. You are as bad as Trevelyan and I want one of us to be removed from the other’s vicinity immediately. My sister can have you.”

-

“Oh, someone isn’t going to be happy with this,” Maxwell says, a growing feeling of dread and extreme amusement at the current situation growing in the pit of his stomach. He guesses that the latter is a learned reaction - a quickly learned reaction over the relatively short amount of time he’s spent with the Inquisition.

“That’s fine,” Herah says, checking her gloves and then making sure her braid is secure, “There’s always going to be someone upset anyway.”

“You shouldn’t have cheated that last hand,” Maxwell says, quickening his stride in an attempt to stave off the inevitable.

The inevitable, in this case, would refer to the rapidly growing mob of drunk - and if not drunk, strongly _nationalistic_ , or perhaps _both_ \- villagers growing behind them. About seven of them significantly poorer after Herah robbed them blind at cards.

“Well I didn’t, Trevelyan. Trust me; that last hand? It was all them. I don’t think there was _anything_ that could have stopped me from winning at that point. There was nothing I could have done to lose. I was actually trying to throw in some more losses before that last and particularly spectacular round, but they were just that bad,” Herah shakes her head. “Dumb sheep. I’ve never seen a group of people so bad at cards. And this includes Blackwall and Cullen. What is it about you human men and being terrible at cards?”

“That’s a terrible generalization, Herah. I’m very hurt by that.”

“You and them both,” Herah snorts, “You want me to boost you up onto the roof?”

Maxwell stares at her, “Why?”

She looks at him and does a quick double take before shaking her head, “Sorry. Usually when I’m about to be chased by an angry mob of humans I’m with Mahanon and it’s because we’re obviously _not part of the locals_. He goes up and I go low and we meet up elsewhere else after losing them.”

“Please don’t ever mistake me for Mahanon again, especially not where he might possibly find out and take retribution on me because - well. You’re you,” Maxwell says. “And he _runs on rooftops_? I don’t know why I’m surprised, actually. It fits him, somehow. I believe it. I believe it too much.”

“More like prowls, but yes,” Herah says, “At what point do you think it would be a good idea to actually run?”

Maxwell quickly glances over his shoulder, “They’ve got torches.”

“It’s barely _noon_.”

“I don’t think those torches are for _seeing_ with. I think we’re at the point where it’s good to run.”

“Agreed,” Herah nods, then grabs Maxwell and throws him over her shoulder, breaking into a run.

Maxwell grunts when his stomach hits her shoulder, “Is this what you do with Mahanon, too?”

Herah snorts a laugh, “As if I could get a hold of that slippery bastard. No, this is what I do with Edric.”

 


	55. Chapter 55

“I think that I've made a mistake,” Edric says, sounding remarkably calm.

Mahanon hums, picking dirt out from under his nails, “You don’t say.”

“Are you still breathing?” Kaaras asks, “Any swelling?”

“Should we, at any point, help?” Evelyn says, watching in complete horror as Edric turns a slow circle, completely engulfed in a black, buzzing, mass of bees.

“Do _you_ want to become absorbed into the cloud of bees?” Mahanon asks. “I, for one, do not. He’s still talking. As far as I can tell he’s fine.”

“I’ve pissed myself.”

“Do we have anything we can use to make some smoke?” Kaaras asks. “Edric, are they _on_ you? Or are they just around you? Can you move your arms?”

“I’m afraid but also my arms are getting tired of behind held up,” Edric says, “I’m going to lower my arms very slowly.”

“Mahanon, do something,” Evelyn pulls on Mahanon’s arm.

“ _What_?” Mahanon looks at her, confusion all over his face, “What do you think I can do? Do you want me to _assassinate bees_?”

“Do something!” Evelyn and Kaaras say.

Edric’s face is indiscernible underneath all the bees, but presumably it looks appropriately beseeching.

“You assume that I have some sort of - some sort of affinity for bees,” Mahanon says, “That I can somehow - using some sort of woodland sense - make these bees leave.”

“Yes,” Evelyn confirms without hesitation.

Mahanon clicks his tongue sharply, “It’s a learning lesson for you all then. Don’t mess with bees because _just because I’m Dalish doesn’t mean I can talk to bees_.”

“Well we can’t just leave him here,” Evelyn gestures at Edric.

“ _Quietly_ ,” Kaaras whispers, as the swarm of bees grows ominously louder, “I - I don’t. I don’t think they like it when you’re - when you’re loud.”

“Mahanon _please_.”

“That’s unfair of you,” Mahanon says, “To assume I can always get the rest of you out of these sort of messes just because I’m a Dalish hunter.”

“So you _can’t_?”

Mahanon glares at Evelyn before pushing up off of the fallen tree he’d been sitting on. He silently cross over to Edric, thrusts his hand straight into the cloud of bees, and _pulls_ Edric out, dragging him back to Evelyn and depositing the stunned dwarf at her feet.

“I _can_ ,” Mahanon says, “But I shouldn’t _have to_.”

“ _How_.” Kaaras looks between the cloud of bees that hovers in the general shape of Edric on one side, and Edric, the actual flesh and bone Edric, dazedly staring into the sky on the other. “Mahanon, _how?”_

 _“I don’t want to because every time I do you rely on me more_ ,” Mahanon says, sitting back down on his rock, “And I perpetuate the idea that Dalish hunters can do anything in a forest. I dislike it immensely. They would have dispersed eventually. _You’re welcome_.”

“I saw the spirits of my dead parents,” Edric whispers, “They were horrified at what their daughter had become and were very sorry for leaving me to her.”

-

“We’re going to have to work together,” Evelyn says, “So at some point we’re going to need to address this.”

“Address what?” Dorian asks.

“That every mage in this room hates the other,” Evelyn answers.

“Untrue,” Kaaras says immediately, “I don’t hate you.”

“Except Kaaras,” Evelyn waves her hand, “Kaaras, you can leave this meeting.”

“I - _should_ I leave though?” Kaaras looks around the table.

Vivienne looks deeply unimpressed and calmly sips her tea.

Solas is reading a book.

Ellana’s chin is hooked over the edge of the table where she’s crouched between Dorian and Solas, looking between the two of them to see who’ll sneak her something to eat first.

“Vivienne and Solas can’t spend two heartbeats together without descending into impetuous silence or poorly disguised aggressive taunts. _Unless_ they’re working together to tear into Dorian. Dorian and Vivenne sometimes can put aside mutual differences in favor of mocking Solas and Ferelden. Dorian and Solas argue when they aren’t trying to sabotage each other or team up against Vivienne. Literally the only time any of you get along is when you’re trying to fight someone else. Also, Vivienne and Solas make Kaaras uncomfortable - Dorian also makes Kaaras uncomfortable but that’s a different type of uncomfortable. And Ellana, in general doesn’t like to be near Vivienne, likes to pester Solas, generally teases and spooks Kaaras and Dorian, and _all of you_ are going to drive me up a wall because I am forced to be mediator every time.”

“I see no problem with this,” Dorian responds instantly, “Do any of _you_?”

“None at all,” Vivienne answers.

Solas ignores them in favor of pushing his teacup towards Ellana.

Ellana’s arm snakes up over the table, snags the teacup, and she disappears entirely.

“If it makes you feel better Evelyn, I do see the problem with it,” Kaaras says, broad shoulders hunched as he looks at Evelyn.

“Like I said, you’re fine, you don’t even have to be here,” Evelyn puts a hand on his shoulder, “Also, Dorian, stop trying to play footsie with him under the table. You keep kicking my shin.”

“You should have thought about that before sitting us apart.”

“If I don’t sit you apart you’d just flirt him into a blushing and stammering mess. Now we’re going to work this out and we’re not leaving until we do. I’ve had the Valo-kas and the Chargers take stations at every entrance and exit.”

Evelyn points to the back door just as it opens.

Herah strides in with a bewildered Ellana tucked under her arm. Ellana makes a rapid series of _what?_ hand gestures, pointing at Herah and herself.

“ _No one_ ,” Evelyn takes her seat as Herah deposits Ellana on the floor by the pink sofa, “Is leaving until we have a working arrangement.”

Herah salutes, “Good luck, mages of Skyhold. Make it good, we’ve got bets going on.”

“I _despise you_ ,” Dorian says to Evelyn.

“You should have left when you had the chance, Kaaras,” Evelyn ignores Dorian and instead puts her hand on Kaaras’ and squeezes, “Now you’re here for negotiations. And it’s everyone for themselves. I’m sorry. This had to be done.”

Kaaras swallows nervously.

Ellana squawks, attempting to open the door.

“Does she even count?” Vivienne asks after a few moments of observing Ellana trying to pry the door open.

“Ellana is technically a mage, even if she isn’t a practicing one. And she’s also part of our problem. _Yes_. She counts. Now let’s begin. Who’d like to start? Solas, you always have _something_ to say. Why not you?”


	56. Chapter 56

“I hope you’ve enjoyed this dance, Lady Montilyet,” Maxwell says, leading Josephine off of the dancefloor, “I’m certain you would have enjoyed it much more with the appropriate - “

Maxwell doesn't get to finish because the second Josephine’s foot is off of the specially tiled dance floor of the ballroom, Herah catches her by the arm as Malika and Ellana both jostle for position in front of Maxwell.

Ellana wins, laughing loud and beautiful as she physically _hauls_ him back out in time for the very - underneath their masks, and visible through their body language - _perturbed_ musicians to begin a new waltz.

Maxwell looks over his shoulder, eyes wide as Ellana takes lead and spins him into the starting position.

“Help?” He says, “ _Help_?”

Herah smoothly winds Josephine’s arm through hers, “It was decided that while the two of you were dancing that it was quite unfair for the rest of us to not have a go on the dance floor. Seeing as the rest of our tragic and deeply uncouth group doesn’t know how to dance, those of us who wanted to dance have decided to use Maxwell for the duration of this travesty.”

Josephine can’t help the incredulous laughter.

“ _All of you_?”

“Well, Dorian, Kaaras, and Mahanon are too busy flirting like peacocks in spring and jostling for position to actually come inside and pretend to be civilized,” Herah says, “And maybe Maxwell will pull his head out of his ass and actually ask the one person he really does want to dance with if we wear him down enough. Does this not sound like a reasonable plan of attack, Ambassador?”

Herah is a fantastic mix of Qun and Orlais. The vitaar paint almost seems to glow against her dark skin, and the golden lights of Halamshiral glint off of the woman gilded horns.

Underneath her open coat Herah wears the breast bands of the Qun, red and white embroidered cloth and beads, more streaks of white vitaar that sharply and unabashedly slide underneath the dark fabric of her trousers.

“I think you would have to ask our Commander about such brutal tactics,” Josephine replies, trying to reign in her laughter and failing, bursting into giggles when looks back out onto the dance floor.

Ellana is expertly leading Maxwell through the waltz - and Josephine had the good fortune to look up just as Ellana dipped the man. Maxwell looks quite thoroughly stunned. Though Josephine must admit that he dances extremely well for someone who looks like they just had their mind smacked out of them with a tea tray.

“I’m next for sure this time,” Malika says, “I’m only letting Ellana go first because she’s been so miserable this entire time we’ve been here.”

“Very generous of you, Malika,” Herah says.

“I know,” Malika huffs, flicking at one of the several metal hoops in her ears, “Who taught Ellana how to dance? She’s really good at leading.”

“Better than Maxwell, even,” Herah says.

Every couple that Ellana and Maxwell come into close proximity looks at them in complete and undisguised _bafflement_ as they quickly attempt to move as far away from the two as possible as _subtly_ as possible. It isn’t very subtle at all, but it is incredibly amusing.

“This entire thing is looking to be so much more fun for an assassination attempt,” Malika says.

Overall, Malika’s right, Josephine thinks.

They might be here to stop an assassination, but Josephine must admit this is one of the most fun gatherings she’s attended in quite some time.

-

“Please tell me the two of you aren’t comparing the things you’ve stolen while we were at Halamshiral,” Evelyn says.

Sera and Malika ignore her.

“ _You are comparing the things  you’ve stolen while we were at Halamshiral under my nose_ ,” Evelyn sits back in the carriage and eagerly looks forward to noon when the carriages stop and they all get out for their mid-time meal and a rest. “I should have ridden with Mahanon and Dorian.”

“Should’ve, could’ve, would’ve, too late for that,” Sera says, “Besides, it’s not like those rich pricks will miss it. I mean, if you think about it, we’re just stealing what they stole from someone else.”

“She’s sort of right, I mean - did you see that palace? I’m kind of impressed that Mahanon and Ellana didn’t wreck things. That lady has an _entire gallery_ dedicated to hoarding ancient elven artifacts,” Malika says, spinning some caprice coins over her knuckles. “When Mahanon saw that I swear to you I thought he was going to completely ruin the place out of spite.”

“She did break the shit, right? It’s broken and now _no one_ gets to learn from the ancient piece of shit?”

Evelyn groans, “Please tell me you didn’t steal anything recognizeable.”

Malika wordlessly pulls a string out from underneath her shirt and reveals a long chain lined with signet rings. The rings jingle and glitter in the early morning light. Malika smiles and jingles the chain a little.

Evelyn feels all of her organs abruptly drop out of her body and depart this world. Probably sucked into the Fade. Evelyn puts her head in her hands, “I feel so sick right now.”

“Do you want them to stop the carriage?” Malika asks.

Evelyn hears her and Sera high five each other.

“I want to stop my life,” Evelyn says, “ _Why_ , Malika? _Why_?”

“They were such easy targets, Evelyn,” Malika says, “Just - just ripe for the picking. I couldn’t help it. It’s the Carta in me. Don’t worry, I only took the ones from the people we didn’t like. That way we can send them back with an ominous note.”

“ _The Inquisition knows_ ,” Sera deepens her voice, “ _The Inquisition sees all_.”

“ _The Inquisition is everywhere_ ,” Malika says, “ _The Inquisition is everyone_.”

“ _We can always find you_.”

“ _This is a courtesy_.”

“Nice,” She and Sera exchange another round of high-fives.

“Why did you have to let me know this? _I’m responsible, now_ ,” Evelyn says. She holds her hand out and makes a _give it here_ gesture, “Let me see those. I want to know who I’m going to be dealing with.”


	57. Chapter 57

“So when will you tie the knot?”

Evelyn’s mind blanks as she stares at Mahanon’s mouth, unable to comprehend the words that were just formed by it.

“ _What_?”

Mahanon gives her a very bored look, “Get married? Have your nuptials? I’ve heard very many and strange ways of referring to this, but _tying the knot_ is the one most others use and I had thought you would be aware of what those words meant. My mistake. Bluntly - when are the two of you officially becoming a unified pair seemingly designed to make my life a pain?”

“I thought that was your sister and the Iron Bull.”

“False. That pair is dedicated to making my life into death,” Mahanon replies, “Answer the question.”

“What makes you think we’re going to be wed in the first place?”

Mahanon puts down all of the supplies he was helping her move from the basement storage room to the library - now that Solas is gone, there’s really no one to stop anyone from creating something out of the central area of the rotunda. The walls will be kept free, but that’s no reason not to place some shelves or desks around the center.

“Are you attempting to bluff me into believing that you _haven’t_ been daydreaming about your impending wedding since you were a small gap-toothed excuse for a person?”

Evelyn’s mind trips over many things, most importantly -

“Mahanon, do you not think children are people?”

“They’re something, but the word _person_ somehow seems too,” Mahanon sneers, “ _Forgiving_.”

Evelyn holds her hand up, “I’m going to come back to that one at a later time. But _I do not daydream about getting married to Cullen_.”

“You write it in your diary.”

“I do _not!_ ” Evelyn’s voice gets that screechy tone it tends to do whenever she raises her voice too loud and too fast. She winces because sound carries and Mahanon’s ears are so very sensitive.

Mahanon glares at her, “To this day I regret ever adding fur lining to your clothes. In fact, I regret allowing Varric to talk me into peacefully revealing myself to this Inquisition. I should have just _left_.”

“I do not write about getting married to Cullen in my diary,” Evelyn repeats at a more respectable volume - and thankfully, less plaintive pitch. “I don’t have a diary.”

Mahanon pulls - out of _nowhere_ \- a book.

Evelyn snatches it, and Mahanon’s unimpressed look tells her that he _let_ her do it. She believes him.

“It’s a _journal_ ,” Evelyn stresses the word. Mahanon rolls his eyes.

“A _journal_?”

“Like - like a log. I write down the things I’ve done today and reflect on them.”

“This is different than a diary?”

“Yes, and I’m not going to explain this to you,” Evelyn tucks the small book under her arm, “Anyway - I thought you didn’t _care_.”

“I _don’t_ ,” Mahanon scowls. “And I dislike that you’re implying that this line of questioning suggests that I do.”

“It’s giving some mixed signals, Mahanon.”

“I’m asking because - “

“Don’t tell me. There’s money on it.”

“My sister fleeced me out of almost _thirty gold pieces_ ,” Mahanon says, “I’m winning it back with the damn wedding. I _trusted the both of you to have more restraint than to have sex on a crooked desk in a room with a window and three doors_.”

-

“So, _Maxwell_.”

Cassandra’s eyes are so sharp that Cullen reflexively takes two steps back and holds up his hands.

“I’m not - I’m not attempting to judge you.”

“You’re _not_?”

“No, Cassandra, I am not,” Cullen reassures her, tentatively stepping closer. When Cassandra looks away and returns to writing - a new pastime of hers that she’s picked up recently. Sometimes she comes to his quarters at night and writes while he’s finishing reports, or attempting to write letters back to his family. They don’t really say much.

She’s asked him for advice on what she writes on a few topics - lyrium for one. More details on Harrowings and such, another.

“Are you trying to gossip, Commander?” Cassandra asks, shoulder stiff.

Cullen sits next to her, folding his hands together underneath the table as he takes a moment to just breathe.

The blacksmith’s workshop, perhaps, is not the most peaceful of places for most. But the sound of metal ringing on metal and the various other minutiae of people moving about their day seems so very familiar and soothing.

“I’m trying to be a half-way decent friend,” Cullen answers, “Something that we are both quite stubborn about attempting to be, despite how awful we are at it in practice.”

“It is the thought that counts, or so I am told,” Cassandra says permissively, “Fine. It isn’t as though you, yourself, were impervious to a Trevelyan.”

“They do have their charm,” Cullen grins a little, “Though I’m not sure if it’s exactly a family trait, that charm of theirs. Honestly, Cassandra, I just want to know if you’re alright.”

“The sky is breaking open, the Chantry has no divine, I have discovered a dark and terrible secret about my own Order, do you want me to continue?”

Cassandra gives Cullen a wry smile when he just _looks_ at her.

“I - I am not so good at talking about such personal affairs,” She says, “Especially those of a romantic nature.”

“Nor am I,” Cullen says. And then, because this awkward stumbling block of earnest caring is so familiar and routine between them, after all of these months -

Strange to think that you could become so close to someone after _months_.

“Friends?” Cullen asks, holding out his hand to her. Cassandra grasps his hand, and nods, a faint laugh in her eyes.

“Friends,” She agrees, “Fine. He’s - he’s surprising in many ways. He is not as he appears. There is - a very interesting complexity.”

“Not something one can say for most noble born boys, I can assume,” Cullen muses taking Cassandra’s inkwell and closing it, quietly turning it over in his hands. Cassandra closes her journal and sighs, leaning back and stretching.

“Speaking as one who comes from a court of entirely noble born boys, _no_ ,” Cassandra answers, rolling her eyes. “Maxwell - I do not know how I feel about Maxwell. He is interesting. He has - he is very observant of people. Kind. Brave. Cheerful. Bright. Humorous. One would argue that he is in many ways my opposite.”

“But - you two get along?”

“Yes,” Cassandra says, staring ahead, hands folded together, thumb rubbing over the other, “He’s very respectful. I am not - I am not adverse to his courtship. But I feel that it is inappropriate.”

“Because he is so much younger?”

“Yes,” Cassandra says, “And because I do not know if I will become the future Divine or not. Would it be fair for me to engage in this, knowing that there is a possibility that I would have to renounce it all? I do not want to become the next Divine, but if there is even a remote possibility, is it not my duty to consider the changes and reforms I could attempt to bring?”

This is more familiar territory. He’s had her in his office ranting and pacing over the future title holder of Divine and Chantry reforms for many, many hours.

“Isn’t it also your duty to yourself to think and consider what would make you happy?” Cullen returns. “The age gap is a little peculiar, but the Inquisition is nothing if not that. And there are worse things than age to ruin a relationship. Have you told Maxwell about this?”

“No,” Cassandra says, “I want to - I want to think about it some more. Imagine that. Me _thinking_. My tutors would be thrilled to see me putting so much thought into something.”

“You think all the time, Cassandra,” Cullen shakes his head, “It just so happens that usually your thoughts cut straight through what would be considered other people’s hesitations.”


	58. Chapter 58

Mahanon startles awake almost instantly, pushing up, body already rigid and tense - already primed to run or fight or whatever it is this particular sort of terrible ritual has primed him for.

“Sh,” Dorian runs his palm down Mahanon’s back slowly, firmly, “It’s just Kaaras, it’s fine, sleep. Rest.”

“Kaaras?” Mahanon pushes up onto his knees, twisting and clumsily - clumsier than either Dorian or Kaaras have ever seen him move - catches himself as he stumbles off the bed towards Kaaras. “You are unhurt? You are well? You are safe?”

Mahanon’s hands stop short of actually touching him, and Kaaras closes the space between them, closing Mahanon into the circle of his arms.

“I’m safe,” Kaaras confirms, “We got her back to Skyhold safely - she’s being kept in a separate area of the basement catacombs. Evelyn, Solas, and Cole are with her now.”

“You’re _safe_?” Mahanon repeats, hands clinging to Kaaras’ back, “Are _all_ of you safe?”

“No one was hurt,” Kaaras says, squeezing Mahanon close, “I promise you. We were careful. Ellana wasn’t hurt, we weren’t hurt. Patience and tempers may have frayed, but no one is physically harmed.”

Mahanon is very still, “You are lying to me.”

Dorian and Kaaras exchange glances over Mahanon’s head.

Mahanon tries to push away, “ _You are lying to me_.”

Kaaras releases him, hands held out open as Mahanon examines his face, stepping back and away - almost the same sort of cornered animal his sister has forgotten she isn’t down below them.

“They were trying to move a wild and angry bear-shaped Ellana,” Dorian says, rising from the chair that was by the bed, “It’s understandable that someone would get hurt. Kaaras, it was nothing major, was it?”

Mahanon’s eyes flick between them, like sparks and flint.

“Nothing major,” Kaaras nods, “Some scrapes, some bruises. Most of it from dodging or when someone didn’t have a good enough hold on the ropes.”

Mahanon’s eyes settle on flint, “You used ropes on her.”

“Yes,” Kaaras says, meeting Mahanon’s eyes.

“Who was hurt?”

“Some of the Chargers, Bull was closest - he got hit a few times. Bruises, Mahanon,” Kaaras adds on quickly, pushing his hands out and down in a calming gesture when Mahanon’s dark eyes widen and his breathing quickens. “ _Bruises_.”

“He’s had worse during sex,” Dorian tries to lighten to mood, reaching out touching his fingertips to Mahanon’s shoulder.

Mahanon flinches backwards.

“What else? Who else?”

“No one,” Kaaras says and Mahanon’s eyes flick over him. Kaaras rolls up his sleeves, turning his hands so Mahanon can see his skin, “Nothing on me, I swear it, Mahanon. Look. Come see.”

“She did not hurt you?”

“No, and we did our best not to hurt her,” Kaaras nods, “I cannot say for sure - I do not think we did, but I am not animal healer.”

“Enough questions,” Dorian says, slowly moving closer to the center of Mahanon’s field of vision, “Amatus, to bed with you. Give the others time to settle her in. Rest and then we’ll attend to your sister. You cannot help others if you destroy yourself first - no?”

-

“Forgive me,” Cullen says, and Evelyn’s eyes can’t help but to notice the shy curve of his smile as he turns away - mostly, in part, because she can’t help staring at his lips. “That was - untoward?”

“Untoward?” Evelyn asks, somewhat mystified by what just happened.

She, for one, had not once in her thirty plus some years of life imagined herself kissing a man in literal armor on top of the walls of a castle in the middle of the mountains.

It seems entirely too cliched and picturesque. And yet -

“I,” Cullen pauses, rubbing the back of his neck, “I - as you can tell, I don’t have much. Erm. _Experience_ in the field of - shall we call it courting? Attempts at courting, at the very least. Or best.”

Evelyn’s lips are quickly losing the warmth she still can’t believe she was feeling _moments_ ago and this. This cannot stand.

“Courting?” Evelyn asks, stepping forward when Cullen steps back.

Patience is probably not anywhere on the list of things anyone has ever said were her strong suits.

Cullen takes another step back and Evelyn makes another step forward. He’s gone rigid now.

Evelyn’s eyes finally manage to trace his scar up his mouth and over his cheek, jumping from the dark shadows of stubble to his eyes. He looks well and truly worried, now.

“I’m - I apologize.”

“ _Why_?” Evelyn demands.

“I - it was improper of me,” Cullen clears his throat, and Evelyn feels something inside of her sparking - in all the _wrong_ ways - as she watches him rapidly retreat into full Templar-Soldier-Commander mode. “It was wrong of me to overstep my bounds with my superior - “

Evelyn’s hands grab at his coat and pull him forward.

She thinks that ordinarily, he wouldn’t have even budged. She isn’t weak - years of staff work and preparing cauldrons and binding books and working on runes has given her tremendous strength in comparison to the image of the scholar who never moves once from their writing desk. But he’s a full grown man in partial armor and a soldier besides.

She does have an element of surprise.

They both yelp because that element of surprise actually gave too much give and their teeth hit and pinch at their lips when they collide.

Evelyn feels like she must be flushed from the top of her head to the tips of her toes. She’s hoping that it doesn’t show because of how damn cold the wind always is.

Cullen, himself, only looks a bit red about the ears and nose - a look most everyone has when they’re on the fortress walls with the wind buffeting them at all hours of the day.

She swallows - some of that irritated fire banking with embarrassment.

“I suggest you rethink your apology,” Evelyn says, “Because I refuse to accept it. Now apologize.”

“For what?” Cullen sounds entirely baffled, but his eyes keep straying from hers to her mouth and she’s counting that as her win.

“For apologizing,” Evelyn says.

Cullen’s own mouth threatens to burst into a smile again.

“I apologize for apologizing.”

“Apology for the apology accepted,” Evelyn says and - this time - gently pulls at the front of his coat.

This kiss doesn’t hurt - it’s infinitely less awkward - but she does keep catching the feeling of him smiling and she supposes it doesn’t help that she’s a solid good moment from laughing herself.

“ _Ridiculous!_ ” The two of them jump apart and turn.

Dorian, Vivienne, Mahanon, Herah, Malika, Ellana, and Maxwell are standing on Vivienne’s veranda.

Ellana waves both her arms, narrowly missing hitting Dorian in the face.

“ _You two couldn’t last two more days?_ ” Herah yells out, “ _I lost money on you. To Maxwell!_ ”

“ _Betrayers!_ ” Maxwell yells.

“ _You two are so cute!_ ” Malika waves, jumping up and down.

Neither Vivienne nor Mahanon say anything, but they do see money quickly exchanging hands.

“Maxwell you _bet money on me?_ ” Evelyn quickly crosses to the other side of the wall to yell at them from a closer distance, “All of you bet money on me? _Does not one of you have any respect for me at all_?”

“No,” Is the resounding answer.

Evelyn turns to Cullen who looks a mixture of both entirely amused by the situation and mortified.

“I’ll be back,” She says, summoning a ball of flame into her hand, “I have to avenge my honor.”

Cullen smiles at her, “Best of luck, Inquisitor. Mahanon and Ellana have already jumped over the balcony edge.”

“That’s fine, I trust them to be on my side,” Evelyn nods and starts running for the entrance to the rotunda. “ _I’ll come back. Think more about how you should show how sorry you are for being sorry. That’s an order!_ ”


	59. Chapter 59

“And here I thought the rich couldn’t be disfigured,” Sera says, almost softly, as she hands a roll of clean bandages over to Stitches.

Maxwell laughs, dropping his shirt off to the side and raising his arm to give Stitches better access to the cut on his side. It’s not too bad - not deep, just long.

Maxwell has - clearly - had worse.

“Technically, I’m from the poorer side of a rich scale,” Maxwell points out.

Sera looks at the scars long and hard. They’re old, she can tell that much from how they’re faded and stretched. They’re very old. He’s had them for a long, long time.

She’s honestly amazed that he’s got that much scar and it hasn’t changed the way he moves. Burn scars do that sometimes. Change how people move. Sera knows. She’s seen a lot of people get one thing wrong in their potions and instead of the fire going right and going over the skin it goes _down and down and down_ until it cooks your bones black.

But still. No risk, no reward.

Sera has a few burns, herself. From when she’s experimented and tested her stuff.

Maxwell’s burns don't look like hers though.

“Can I ask?”

“Sure,” Maxwell says, voice suspiciously light, “It’s not a secret.”

“Alright, fine, but if I ask will it make you snappy?” Sera asks, “I mean - just because I can ask doesn’t mean I should.”

“I’m surprised at you Sera, normally that isn’t the kind of thing you care about.”

“I’m not an ass _all_ the time,” Sera says, crouching down to look up at his face, fingers curling over the worn toes of her shoes, feeling her toes through the dependable fabric. “So? If I ask will it make you be an ass?”

“No,” Maxwell’s face is nothing but good humor and the faded memory-scar of something that’s happened a long time ago.

“Alright,” Sera says and then asks, “What fucked you up?”

Maxwell laughs and Stitches smacks them both, “Stop making him move.”

“Sorry,” Sera rubs the back of her head.

“It was an accident,” Maxwell says softly when he’s done laughing, silent through the rest of Stitches’ patching up. Maxwell reaches his hand up and touches his shoulder, just at the edge of where the burns are. “It was an accident, really - and it was my fault entirely.”

Sera narrows her eyes because that kind of talk usually comes from a bad place. Get beat kind of bad place. Get fucked over kind of bad place. The kind of bad place Sera is used to finding other Jennies bad place.

“So how’d you fuck up then to get looking like that?” Sera asks, rocking back and letting herself drop into a cross legged position.

“I startled a mage,” Maxwell replies and Sera doesn’t really pry much about where people come from aside from the obvious. But well. Sera doesn’t need to for this one.

Evelyn and Maxwell played together all the time as brats until they were twelve or so. And then Evelyn went to the Circles and Maxwell was writing to her ever since and they haven’t seen each other until now. In person.

“It isn’t uncommon for nobles to have their kids homeschooled,” Maxwell says slowly, reaching for his shirt and pulling it on, “The ones who show magic, I mean. It usually results in complete and utter fucking disaster, honestly. But there are some who get by. I was - I was twelve and Evelyn’s my best and at the time _only_ friend.”

Sera looks into his eyes and hears him.

 _I didn't want her to leave me_.

“They weren’t _sure_ it was Evelyn. It could have been one of us,” Maxwell rubs his hands up and down his forearms. “And it wasn’t anything big. Some frost on the windows - certain windows - and a few things that were magicked away, disappeared, and reappeared days later without any real explanation. Glowing lights and whatnot. Her parents thought it was her. A lot of people had ideas that it might be her.”

Maxwell closes his eyes.

_I did not want it to be her._

“The Trevelyans are a devout and stupidly political family. You know the Ostwick Circle has a particularly strong showing of our family members and our support. Sending Evelyn there would bolster that, especially since she’s so high up in the main family.”

Sera hears.

“I don’t know - I. Well. Later on - later on Evelyn told me that her parents had been talking about it with her. How if she thought that she was a mage, if she was having strange dreams and such to tell them. But Evelyn.”

 _She didn’t want it to be her, either_.

“I suppose it wouldn’t surprise you to know this,” Maxwell says, “But the two of us were terrible to each other.”

“That’s how siblings and best friends go,” Sera says. She’s only ever had one of the two, but she thinks that it isn’t all too different.

“One of the things we’d do was surprise each other - slip frogs and bugs and such down each others collars, make loud noises at blind corners, that sort of thing,” Maxwell rubs his hands together. “And I knew something was bothering her - she wouldn’t tell me - so I thought that I’d surprise her. Get her _real_ good, and then maybe I could get her to tell me what was wrong. So I did surprise her. And in a very roundabout way she did tell me what was wrong.”

Maxwell opens his hands, waving them a little, “Surprise! She’s a mage! We were both surprised, actually, because Evelyn wasn’t sure at the time. No one was - they all just had _ideas_.”

Maxwell takes in a deep breath, “She sent a fireball at me. Got me right here. It wasn’t so big, but we were both surprised and I don’t know if you know this but the finer clothes are the better they are at burning. I don’t remember what happened after that. The next thing I knew - she was gone, my family reduced me from the family joke to the family disfigured accident, and her being gone was my fault.”

“Wait, you’ve lost me. How is her going to the Circle your fault?”

“If I didn’t startle her that day - “

“You’d have done it another day,” Sera says. Maxwell gives her this look. And Sera has a feeling that this is probably an argument he’s had a thousand times with someone. Himself, Evelyn, whoever.

“From that day onward whenever anyone referred to her going to the Tower, it was always prefaced with some variation on the words _because of what she did to Maxwell_. It should be _because of what Maxwell did to her_.” Maxwell slowly pushes to his feet and stretches. He smiles, suddenly and abruptly. “Alright. Enough of that depressing talk. Back out into it. I, for one, am not going to keep Herah waiting.”

Sera watches him leave, and turns to Stitches who’s quietly arranging his kit.

“That’s fucked up,” She says.

Stitches nods.

“I’m going to tell Evelyn,” Sera continues.

“You do that.”

“You think between the two of us we could kick his ass out of that bullshit?”

“Trevelyan versus Trevelyan,” Stitches muses, “Almost evens out. Might need back up. An Adaar?”

“I like the way you think Needle-man.”


	60. Chapter 60

“You know, traditionally, the man is supposed to be the one leading the dance,” Maxwell says about nine measures in when he’s regained his composure. He hopes that he looks slightly more put together and less of a gaping fish than the other dancers around them look. Surely he must.

Ellana raises a single elegant eyebrow, pressing her hand firmly against his waist as she guides them into a turn.

“Is that to say I am not the man in this relationship, Ellana?”

He’s certain that if there were any other dancers who were -

Well. Brave certainly shouldn’t be the most appropriate term, but he’s failing to think of another.

If there were any other dancers here brave enough to dance at a normal distance from them he’s sure they would be tittering about like overly scented and puffed up pigeons. Very puffy pigeons. Ruffled feathered breasts and such.

Ellana’s other eyebrow raises up to match the first.

“I apologize, Ellana. You’re right, traditional gender roles are pointless and stifling. There’s nothing gendered about dancing at all. Do carry on.”

Ellana’s smile grow from genial to beatific, hand squeezing his as she guides them through the somewhat complicated steps of a variation of a waltz he hasn’t had reason to remember for years.

She suddenly sharply turns them and Maxwell gets a glimpse of Cassandra’s - dare he say, think it? - bemused face for a split moment.

“Is this your way of saying I’m being quite absurd in not asking the woman I am most interested in courting to dance at _the_ party of the year?”

Ellana hums, fingers tapping what is most probably a _must you ask the obvious_ and is definitely a _yes!_ on his side.

“Well, I’m going to tell you exactly what I told Herah and Josephine and Sera and Varric and everyone else who’s decided to be nosy,” Maxwell says. Ellana pointedly steps down hard on his toes. He has no idea how it hurts so much - he’s in actual sturdy shoes and she’s in - what. Slippers? Excuses for shoes?

“Alright, fine, you’ve broken me. _I’m terrified of failure and I don’t want to have to go through the entire night trying not to break down into a pathetic sulk because she says no_. Happy?”

Ellana’s flat gaze tells him otherwise.

“How long is this dance anyway?” Maxwell mutters. “I feel like it ought to be over by now. How do you even know this dance anyway? I didn’t know you knew human dances. Or cared to know.”

Ellana gives him a considering look as they move into a spin and a dip.

Just as Maxwell’s back is to her he feels her brush against his back, mouth to his ear and a warm exhale of breath -

“ _The Iron Bull taught me._ ”

Maxwell’s mind blanks out as she dips his pliant and soulless body. Part of him admits she’s timed that _wonderfully_. His knees and legs as well as _everything else_ has lost feeling and he doubts he’d have been able to stay up.

She pulls him up and it’s purely gravity and momentum and her that keeps him from falling.

“ _Wha_?” Maxwell’s mouth falls open.

Ellana’s smile has moved from beatific to dazzling in so many ways. She begins to lead him off the dance floor.

“Even if you told everyone else that I can talk,” She says, “No one would believe you. _You have no witness.”_

Maxwell’s mind gathers itself together some time later and he has no recollection of between then and now, because he’s currently dancing with Malika - midway through some sort of tango hybrid - and she’s giving him very concerned looks.

“Malika, my friend, my darling, my sweet, my terrifying bastion of certainty and terrible platitudes,” Maxwell says - his entire face feels _numb_ \- , “Can you hit me as hard as you can in the head? I think somethings been knocked loose and I’d like to make sure.”

-

“Normally,” Mahanon says, tapping his finger on his knee as he stares down at his sister from his perch in the tree, “We like to avoid thinking about our forced marriage as much as possible.”

Kaaras looks between the two elves, unsure if maybe this is a sign that something is wrong or not.

“But this year Ellana has dissolved that bond and I think maybe we ought to celebrate our first year of living a reasonable life of not being married to your sibling after almost a dozen years of _being married to our sibling_ ,” Mahanon says. Ellana looks up from where she was watching some bees buzzing around the shrubbery and bats fondly at Mahanon’s dangling foot.

“Suggestions, Kaaras?” Mahanon says as the two elves engage in what looks like to be a game of Ellana trying to hold Mahanon’s foot still as he waves it back and forth.

The action seems strangely innocuous and entirely too - well. Serene? Placid? Sanguine? for the two.

Kaaras isn’t sure if he’s ever seen the two _play_. At least not with each other in such a non-violent way.

“I’m - I’m not so s-sure why you-you’re asking _m-me_ ,” Kaaras says, confusion making his tongue feel like wood in his mouth. He grimaces.

“Of the three of us here and present - the three of us who _matter_ -,” Mahanon makes sure to clarify, considering that there are plenty of other people in the garden. Kaaras frowns. Mahanon rolls his eyes. “Fine. Of the three of us people here who’s opinions are relevant to the topic at hand - _better_?”

“Yes.”

“Of the three of the aforementioned people - “

“Dorian’s vocabulary is beginning to affect yours.”

“Never let him know.”

Kaaras smiles. “Alright.”

“ _Point being_ , of the three of us - you’re the only one with a generally normal thought process. So. Ideas?”

“Y-you want a normal idea for a peculiar sit-situation?”

“Yes.”

Kaaras considers a few things he could say in protest to this.

He shrugs, “Dinner?”

“We eat _all the time_.”

“I - I mean. A special one. Just the t-two of you. Maybe you make it together?”

Mahanon hums, “Is that something _you_ would like to do, eventually?”

“I don’t think Dorian cooks.”

“That’s fine, he can provide the hot air.”

Kaaras and Ellana both laugh.

“Yes,” Kaaras says.

“So it’s - nice?”

“Yes.”

“Sister? Your thoughts on this suggestion provided by the one person between the three of us who has a normal understanding of how relationships typically work.”

Ellana idly bats at Mahanon’s ankle before shrugging, and then nodding. She gives Kaaras an encouraging smile.

“Very well. Tell us, Kaaras - in this scenario, is hunting and killing dinner part of it?”


	61. Chapter 61

“You are not in the Herald’s Rest.”

Bull doesn’t spook so easily, but he has to admit that Mahanon is very good at what he does. He supposes that someone who wasn’t so good wouldn’t have been snatched up the Leliana so quickly.

“No,” Bull nods, working on repairing some training dummies. It’s good to work with his hands. It’s quiet. It isn’t the same feeling as sharpening a blade or oiling his brace. But it’s still a meditative, calming thing. After the past few months they’ve had, he figures they could use all the calm they can get.

Bull can _feel_ Mahanon frowning.

“Someone has to fix the training dummies,” Bull says, “Pentaghast goes through them faster than most, and there’s not really anyone else to keep up with her. Might as well do this while I’ve got some time.”

Mahanon crouches on the stairs above him, when Bull glances up, Mahanon so closely resembles his sister that Bull almost forgets that they aren’t actually born from the same people.

“What is shovel talk?” Mahanon asks.

Bull raises an eyebrow.

“Shovel talk?”

“I assumed you would know what it is because when I went to look for you Blackwall asked me if I was going to give you the shovel talk. I feel that at your age you ought to know about shovels. So this must be some sort of figure of speech and not actually about shovels.”

“It’s technically about shovels in that it implies the use of one,” Bull says, “It’s when you threaten to kill or hurt someone if they hurt someone close to you. Usually the person you threaten is in a romantic or sexual relationship with the person close to you. Hence the word shovel. _Are_ you here to give me the shovel talk?”

“Oh,” Mahanon rolls his eyes, “So it’s what Maxwell attempted to do on Cullen.”

“Attempted, yeah,” Bull laughs. Mahanon quietly drops down from the stairs and lands on the bench next to him, almost soundless.

“I am not here to give you this shovel talk,” Mahanon says, arranging himself next to the Iron Bull, leaning his back against Bull’s arm and curling up towards the wall. “Ellana is the only one who knows her own heart and she knows that she has decided on you.”

Bull grunts, nodding as he works on binding straw into the shape of an arm.

Sounds like Mahanon and Ellana.

But he also knows that there is more to be said, so he waits as Mahanon gathers his thoughts. In this, he and his sister are similar but very different in approach.

Ellana thinks for a very long time before deciding to speak and then she is done. Mahanon speaks and then takes the time to rewrite the meaning of the words already spoken and connect them to the words he does not yet have.

“I love my sister,” Mahanon says softly.

Bull does not doubt that, not for one moment.

“But we hurt each other,” Mahanon continues slowly. “It is not either of our faults. It is - it is something that happens because we choose to be together, because we do not want to go back on what we have chosen. I love her, but that does not mean that at times I do not resent her, that I am not angry of her, that I am not afraid of her.”

Mahanon’s hair is smooth on the Iron Bull’s skin as he wedges himself into the space between Bull and the wall, shrinking down.

“I think that this is something you understand. It is not something I have to explain.”

“It’s not something that you _can_ explain,” Bull says, and he feels Mahanon nod.

“I wanted to know - is it equal for you?”

Bull runs his thumb over the sections of string he had wound together to bind the straw.

“There are things that she can give me that I can only - at this time - find with her. And she has told me that I give her something she has not yet found in anyone else,” Bull tells him, softly, lowering his voice. “I do not know if the things we give are equal. But what I have, I offer freely.”

Mahanon weighs the words, and then sits up, pushing himself up using the Iron Bull’s shoulder. He kisses Bull’s cheek, “Do for her what you can. That is all anyone could ask and want of you. I hope that she gives you peace.”

-

“What are the Adaar doing?” Malika asks, watching as the two Qunari practically _race_ each other down the steps of the main hall. She’s never looked Kaaras look so - so _not Kaaras_ in her life.

“I think the rest of the Valo-kas are visiting and they want to look good,” Evelyn says, “I think they’re ahead of schedule. They said they’d be here next week. I’ll go let someone know to help set up grounds for them and get some food ready. I’d ask you to tell Josephine but I think with how fast those two were running Josephine’s probably caught wind of it already.”

“Are they - are they _fighting_?”

“I think they’re competing to see who gets to go first,” Evelyn muses. “I think they’re very excited to see their family in person after so long.”

“I’ve never seen Kaaras and Herah lock horns like that. _Is that blood_? Do you think Dagna could make me horns like that? It’d be really cool. I mean, I’d probably have to get on Maxwell’s shoulders for it to be fair, or Blackwalls.”

“You’ll get a concussion,” Evelyn says, resting her hand on Malika’s shoulder before going off, “But when has that ever stopped anyone here?”

Malika goes off to investigate this strange and newly discovered ritual of the Adaar as the fortress gates rattle open.

She hears a chorus of loud greetings in Qunlat and the sounds of cracking heads, horns.

Damn. She wishes Dwarf reunions were that neat.

Mostly they just get drunk and cuss each other out.


	62. Chapter 62

"Trevelyan, that’s possibly the most intelligent thing you’ve ever said in your life,” Mahanon says in the stunned silence that follows Maxwell’s proclamation.

All heads swing from Maxwell to Mahanon, Maxwell’s own mouth hanging open before his eyes get suspiciously wet -

Mahanon’s lip curls up over his teeth, “ _Do. Not. Ruin. It_.”

Ellana laughs, springing to her feet and throwing her arms around Maxwell, vigorously patting him on the back.

“Mahanon is right,” Edric says.

“Is it ever otherwise?” Mahanon asks, and is summarily ignored.

“Just because someone’s got a fancy title doesn’t mean they’re going to be listened to,” Edric says, “Look at Maxwell. He’s technically a noble.”

“I am feeling very conflicted about where my own idea is taking me,” Maxwell says. Ellana, face against his chest, blindly pats at his face until she gets his mouth and pinches his lips shut.

“But what does it matter?” Kaaras asks, brows furrowed as he runs his thumb over this lower lip in thought. “Just because _we_ listen to her and do what she says - we aren’t really anybody important. Herah and I are Tal-Vashoth - and I’m an apostate. I doubt Orlais or Ferelden will be willing to follow the Inquisiton’s lead because _we_ do. I mean, since when did humanity as a whole follow the Dalish example? Or the Dwarven way?”

“But we can pull in the authority of those we know,” Malika says, “And through that we can start pulling other people in. A spider’s web and cat’s cradle, like that. You start somewhere small and you slowly bring everyone in through the ripples. What was the thing?”

“A butterfly’s sneeze,” Dorian says, fingers drumming on his knee, “You’re thinking of a butterfly’s sneeze.”

“That’s the one,” Malika snaps her fingers, beaming at him. Dorian gives her a brief grin back before his face turns solemn with thought.

“This could also backfire, you realize. If too many of us are seen allied with the Inquisition and actively obeying it could send conflicting messages. I mean - Evelyn is already getting something of a dubious reputation for Tevinter sympathies just for _talking_ to me and giving me a metaphorical seat at the table.”

“The Dalish as a whole,” Mahanon says slowly, eyes narrowed at a spot on the wall, “Are willing to take the word of one person concerning the reputation of another. But that’s only good if the person who recommends has the credit for it and is respected by the people you’re trying to persuade to your side. For example, the only reason I joined the Inquisition was because Merrill would vouch for Varric as a good man. And that might not have worked on me if I wasn’t of the personal opinion that Merrill is a good woman.”

“So you _are_ capable of having good opinions of someone,” Herah muses.

Mahanon flicks her an annoyed look but turns back towards Dorian, “Even if my sister and I vouch for the Inquisition we may be turned away just for the fact that neither of us have actively tried to remove you.” Mahanon pauses and grimaces, “Or the Iron Bull.”

Ellana hisses. Maxwell pets her hair and she visibly calms.

“You have such a way with words,” Dorian says, strained smile on his face.

Mahanon slowly blinks at him and turns away.

“So even though all of us are very diverse,” Edric says, “We risk alienating half the people we’re intending on persuading just by the very nature of us being diverse.”

“Could work, diverse people work together all the time,” Sera speaks up for the first time. “I mean, the Jennies. Wardens.”

“The Red Jennies are people who blend in and are bound by similar backgrounds,” Herah says, “And failing that - you all have the common sense to want to shove it up the asses of abusive nobles. And the Wardens have the entire - _eliminate all darkspawn_ thing going.”

“But could we _try_?” Maxwell asks, arms loosely wrapped around Ellana as he awkwardly walks them closer to the center of their group, Ellana’s feet on top of his. “There’s no point in all the pomp of reforming the Inquisition and naming an Inquisitor and claiming a bloody _castle_ in the middle of the Frostbacks in the name of fighting a terrible and incredibly fantastic evil if _no one will listen to us_ because they think we’re upstarts.”

“We can try Carta,” Malika says, “We can probably start off with the more - uh. Savory? Savory Carta. And then work our way from there. I don’t think the normal noble houses will be willing to get involved, to be honest. Orzammar is kind of bull-headed about surface stuff at the best of times. And I don’t think demons are popping up underground.”

“We have contacts that aren’t Carta,” Edric reminds her, “We’ll try to pull some strings. Whichever ones we have left, at least.”

“The Valo-kas probably won’t have much pull with other Tal-Vashoth. We all operate differently,” Herah says, leaning back against the wall, arms crossed over her chest. “But I’m sure that there are plenty of Tal-Vasthoth who’d be happy to kill demons. And Tevinter fucks.”

“Mercenaries tend to be easier to talk to,” Kaaras adds on, “Less nationalism - though sometimes more racism. I’ll write some friendly groups and see what I can do. I’ll also try asking Krem and Stitches if they can help. Stitches still has contacts in the Ferelden Army, among other things.”

“Jennies are already in,” Sera says, “No protests from me here.”

“I don’t have any ties, honestly - but I do have _suggestions_ ,” Dorian says, “Do you suppose we’ll run out of messenger birds?”

“Don’t worry, I’ll keep my letters short,” Malika says.

All eyes swing to Mahanon who sighs, shrugging.

“I don’t write letters,” Mahanon finally says, “But I can get word out. I doubt it will work. But since when has anything we’ve ever done actually _worked_?”

“Well we are in a castle that hasn’t collapsed about our heads,” Maxwell points out.

“Not for a lack of trying,” Mahanon says, giving Kaaras a pointed look. The man shrugs, rubbing at the back of his head where he was clipped by some falling stone. Lucky break in that Malika tackled him in time.

“In any case, it’s the thought that counts. Now we have a plan,” Maxwell says. “And it can never hurt to have a plan. In fact, I’m fairly certain it is the exact opposite of hurting. Helping - or whatever the general sentiment is. How novel. _Helping_.”


	63. Chapter 63

“We talked about this,” Bull says softly and Ellana’s eyes spark like flint.

“Once,” She says, “We talked about it _once_.” And then softer, “You should know better than to assume by now.”

Bull’s eye narrows, “You’re mad.”

“ _Yes_ ,” Ellana hisses, “Yes, I am mad.”

Bull leans forward on his elbows, frowning, “Can you tell me why you are mad?”

“Because _you didn’t ask_ ,” Ellana says and then something flickers behind her eyes and she looks away, a scowl on her face that looks more like it would belong on her brother.

“And now you’re mad at something else,” Bull holds his hand out between them, palm up. Ellana, suspiciously ignores his hand, arms curling around her drawn up knees. “Talk to me.”

“I’m mad,” Ellana says slowly, tasting the words, “Because you _assumed_. You _assumed_ that I wouldn’t want to be touched by you. You _assumed_ that I wouldn’t want _you_.”

Ellana’s scowl deepens.

Bull’s stomach tightens, “You said - “

“ _I said no the first time_ ,” Ellana snaps, eyes flicking back to him, “I said no to you, to sex, the first time. But I never said no to your hands. I never said no to being close to you. _You didn’t ask me_. You _assumed_ I wouldn’t want that, wouldn’t want _you_.”

Bull closes his eyes and breathes carefully. Of all the stupid mistakes he could have made -

He always asks for everything else, how could he not ask for this?

“Ellana,” Bull calls out to her softly, “Ellana, can I touch you?”

“ _No_ ,” Ellana snarls, “I don’t want to be touched. Not right _now_.”

She takes a breath, “I’m mad at me for being mad at you. I should have - “

“Should have what?” Bull asks when she cuts herself off abruptly.

“I shouldn’t have expected it, no one ever asks,” Ellana whispers, hot and bitter. “I shouldn’t have - I shouldn’t. _I shouldn’t have expected so much_.”

Bull’s shoulders tense like he just got hit.

“ _Ellana_ ,” he breathes out, “You should always expect. This was my fault. I was wrong. I should have known better. And we both know that. We both know that between my experience and my skillset I should have known to ask you permission, to ask you what you want. What you need.”

“No one ever thinks to ask - _do you feel like being touched? Do you not want to be touched?_ ” Ellana replies, “No one ever thinks that it is something that can change. Sometimes I don’t remember, realize it, myself. Until I’m in the moment and my heart is like poison in my own chest and I want your hands on me, I want Dorian’s palm against mine, I want to push my body against Maxwell’s or Kaaras’ and hold them close. Or - or worse. I see Malika’s hand - I know it is a kind hand, I know it is a familiar hand - and my entire soul flinches from it. Herah comes to guide me with a hand off the back of my neck and I know she means it to make me feel better. I know she means it to give me a steady anchor, but I want to snap and hurt and it cracks against my skin like a _whip_.”

Bull takes his hand back, resting it in the space between them.

Ellana puts her hand down next to his, the tip of her pinky touching against the edge of his wrist.

“I didn't know I wanted to be touched until you turned away from me,” Ellana says, curling up tight and pressing her forehead to her knees, “I didn’t know how much I wanted it until you turned away and left. And the words were stuck in me, it all came together - scrambled and dashed upon the rocks of my head and I couldn’t say anything. I’m _mad_. I’m mad at _you_ for assuming that I did not want to be touched just then. I am mad that you looked at me and thought you had read me well - as if I were a language to be memorized and trotted out when needed. I am even more mad at myself for not _knowing_ what I wanted - I am mad at myself for not realizing what I wanted until its was too late. I am _mad_ at myself for that moment when you turned away and I couldn’t reach out and grasp it back and take it under my own control.”

Ah, Bull thinks. Back the problem of control.

Ellana and her control are familiar acquaintances on her best days, foreign enemies at her worst.

Bull doesn’t move his hand but he does shift his weight a little closer to her.

“You are learning yourself new,” Bull reminds her, “There are bound to be surprises along the way.”

“I am tired,” Ellana grinds out through her teeth, “Of being surprised by my own self. I want my self to be as familiar to me as the palm of your hand, as the tone of my brother’s voice. I want my self to be so well worn it is nothing but air, I want myself to fit so easily I do not have to think _is this me_? I am tired of being foreign in my own mind.”

“And you have every right to be,” Bull says, “Just like you have every right to expect people to respect you and your choices and your boundaries. Just like you have every right to expect and demand that I ask first. That everyone asks first. But this takes time - “

“I have wasted almost three decades worth of time trying to put myself together,” Ellana snarls, eyes furious as she turns to him, “When does it end? _When will I be satisfied_?”

“Never,” Bull answers her, honestly because he does not lie to her.

Ellana freezes, eyes gleaming with burning hot tears that she refuses to let fall.

“You will always be made and remade and unmade,” Bull says, “You will never be satisfied with yourself. No one ever is. There is always something new to change, to improve, to work on. There is no one in this world who is satisfied with who they are.”

“Comfortable, then,” Ellana says, and her hand pushes closer to his, close enough for him to feel the angry hot dampness of her palms.

“I don’t know,” Bull answers her. “Kadan, I don’t know.”

“Then what the _hell_ is the point?” Ellana’s voice cracks and her head falls as if it had been held up by a string - violently cut. Her forehead hits against his shoulder. “What is the point?”

Bull slowly moves his other hand into her line of sight, when she doesn’t move he pushes his fingers through her hair, cupping the back of her head. Her tears are hot when they fall onto the back of his hand.

“There will be a time,” He tells her, “When the surprises do not hurt you. There will be a time when the stones you overturn in your mind and discover in yourself will only amaze you, please you, make you question things. They will not always be jagged hurts in the dark. I swear to you. It takes time, it takes so much damn time. But it will not always be glass shards and discarded knives.”


	64. Chapter 64

"You're leaving,” Kaaras says, softly. Dorian’s hands stutter - a small blot of ink forming on the page of notes, and he feels the page he was turning with his other hand _pull_. Not a rip, but a close one. Vivienne would have had his head. He’s not sure where she’d have it - a pike seems too gauche.

“Well, the Inquisitor is the one who chooses her favorite’s appointments, and what can I say? I am _the_ favorite.” Dorian flashes the serious faced man a smile, “I am _your_ favorite, after all.”

Kaaras’ expression does not change. The furrow between his brow - ever present, and Dorian wonders if Kaaras was born looking worried sometimes - deepens, if anything.

The man doesn’t move from where he’s standing - awkwardly, fingers fidgeting at his sides. Dorian wonders if someday he’ll be able to coax the man into comfort - into the confidence of knowing that he is welcome and he belongs wherever Dorian does. Where Dorian goes, Kaaras is welcome. Dorian will make it so.

He really will.

This is something he thinks Mahanon flaunts. Mahanon _knows_ exactly where he shouldn’t be and why; Mahanon makes it a point to be in those exact places glaring boldly into whatever abyss would remove him. A strange contradiction, Dorian can’t help but to marvel at it. Mahanon has spent his life in shadows and hiding, in fact he thrives in it. But there are times when Mahanon lifts his eyes and _dares_.

The word, _dares_ , will always sting like a slap. To be bold, brave, _beautiful_ and brazen enough to _dare_.

Dorian is _trying_. It’s so very hard to unlearn resignation.

“No, not that way. I mean you’re leaving. After this is over,” Kaaras says, “After we are over.”

Dorian has to very carefully put his pen down and stop the ink well.

“Kaaras,” He says softly, “We?”

Kaaras swallows softly, “You’re going back to Tevinter, Dorian. We’ll be _over_. I - don’t - don’t think I - _I know you_.”

The last three words rush out of the man’s mouth like a punch.

It feels like Dorian’s been hit, too.

“You’re going to do something reckless and stupid and brave,” Kaaras says slowly, carefully. The words are slow and hot, like melted iron - and as they come out they cool as truth. A truth that Dorian has only been toying with in the abstract. “You’ve come so far from who you were when we first met. Evelyn and Maxwell’s hope at work, I think. Their kindness.”

When Kaaras speaks this slowly, this intently, his stutter fades. And each word is another nail in the proverbial coffin.

“You’re going back to Tevinter to change things after this,” Kaaras slowly leans against the nearest bookshelf, as if for support. “You’re going to leave me and Mahanon behind.”

“That doesn’t mean I’m _leaving_ \- “ Dorian struggles for the words.  He’s never had - he’s never had a relationship he wanted to hold onto like this. It is new in every way. He doesn’t want to lose this, lose them. “I’ll come back. Me being physically absent doesn’t mean I don’t love you. It doesn’t mean that I’m not with you in my heart, in spirit. It doesn’t mean I’ve stopped wanting either of you.”

“We can’t go with you, Dorian,” Kaaras says, eyes lowered to a point on the floor. “We’d be killed. We’d be in your way. Don’t you dare try to tell me - don’t, don’t try to tell me otherwise. Mahanon and I have no aptitude for Tevinter politics, neither of us understand their ways - we’d ruin you before you could even get started.”

Dorian stands, holding his hand out for Kaaras.

“Kaaras, my leaving doesn’t mean I’m leaving _you_ ,” He repeats, “This is just something I have to do. This is something I’ve - it’s my duty, as someone with the power, the influence, the chance - got a responsibility to do this. To _try_. To dare.”

Kaaras closes his eyes and Dorian crosses the space between them, reaching up and taking Kaaras’ face in his hands.

“Kaaras.”

“I _know_ ,” Kaaras chokes out, slumping. Kaaras is a strong, broad man. He is a large man with a larger heart and every bit of it is soft, soft, soft. Kaaras curls his arms around Dorian’s shoulders, face pressing against Dorian’s. “Because you’re a good person. I know you have to go. I know that you have to do this. I just - I don’t want you to go. I don’t want to think that this is going to be over.”

Dorian runs his hands up and down Kaaras’ back in bold sweeps. Daring.

“It isn’t,” He promises, “I won’t let it be. I can change Tevinter, I can have _this_. We can have this. The two are not mutually exclusive, I refuse to believe it. It’ll just be hard - it will take time. And isn’t that what we’re fighting for? Time? Time to change, time to live, for time - in general - to continue?”

Kaaras’ hold tightens around him.

“I haven’t told Mahanon yet,” He whispers, voice rough and wet, “I don’t think he sees it, realizes, I mean. That you’re already gone.”

Dorian doesn’t say anything, he can’t.

“Since when were you so magnificently clever?” Dorian asks, “Knowing what I’m thinking better than I do; and even what I’m going to do before I know it, myself!”

“When will you tell him?” Kaaras asks.

“I don’t know,” Dorian whispers. Mahanon is so - so intensely brittle. He seems solid in the way liquid metal is, and yet he is ash. A memory of heat. Even as he crumbles underneath your fingers, he stains and scratches. Dorian swallows. “I don’t even know what I’m doing, myself, just yet, now that you’ve laid it all out there. I have to think about it. As something other than a hypothetical, I mean. There are arrangements to be made. People to contact. Such and such.”

Dorian presses his nose into Kaaras’ chest, breathing deep.

“I love you,” Kaaras whispers, chokes out, “You scare me.”

“You and me both,” Dorian replies. “This isn’t over. We aren’t over. If I get my way, and I always do, we won’t ever be over.”

It is such a bold statement to make. A _Mahanon_ statement to make.

But oh, how Dorian dares to believe in it. In himself.

This, he thinks, he can do. He will.

He won’t just try, he will _succeed_. No matter how long it takes.

There will come a day, he must believe with all his heart, where he can walk hand in hand with both Kaaras and Mahanon through the streets of his childhood home without fear and shame. Equals.


	65. Chapter 65

There are people for whom emotions are just that, emotions. And then there are people for whom emotions are _ways of living_. They are constant states of matter, they are entire paths and walkways of how to live, they are their second skin.

Concern, for most people, is an emotion. Concern, for Evelyn, is a way of life. That woman will always be worried about something, Varric muses as he watches Evelyn stare at the clearing around her in horror. If Evelyn weren’t worried or concerned about something, she’d be concerned about her lack of concern.

This is probably why she and Curly are so well suited for each other. Two worried people being worried together about the general state of worry the rest of the world doesn’t seem to have the capability of generation. A lot of worrying going on, there.

Thoughts, actions, lips - among other things. That is, of course, if the two of these fools ever get to that part. A whole list of new worries.

And then there are people like the Lavellans.

Mahanon and his pointed disregard, Ellana and her casual disregard.

They’re also well suited for Evelyn but in - instead of a complimentary way - a way to give Evelyn a list of worries so she doesn’t run out and start worrying about _not being_ worried.

Varric is fairly certain that when you’re nervous about not having anything to be nervous about, that’s some sort of paranoia and head sickness. Probably.

“Has anyone seen Herah? Anyone at all?” Evelyn asks, standing underneath Mahanon and shielding her head as he tosses pebbles down at her. “Mahanon please stop that and please stop your sister before she breaks her neck.”

Mahanon, true to his pointed disregard - a very distinct and purposeful flaunting of rules, conventions, and cares - makes a vaguely amused sound, “So?”

Ellana laughs, delighted as she climbs further up her own tree and starts to stretch out along a rather thin and bendy looking branch. She’s attempting to get at a bird’s nest.

“She’d _die_ ,” Evelyn says.

“Good riddance,” Mahanon replies, tossing another rock down at her.

Evelyn doesn’t even bother asking Varric for help.

Varric doesn’t know if he’s very pleased by this or slightly insulted. He’s not a very complex man, so he can only do one or the other. He figures it’s more contrary to be slightly insulted, but it’s much easier to be very pleased. He chooses the latter.

He settles back against his own tree, watching as Evelyn looks like she’s physically attempting not to explode.

“Hey, leave Evelyn alone. Evelyn, stop letting them fuck with you like that,” Herah’s voice calls out from forest, accompanied by the sound of rustling bushes and snapping underbrush.

Both Lavellans protest the phrasing in their own special ways.

Ellana, by very quickly and heart-stoppingly rolling off her branch and somehow landing perfectly on all fours with a little tuck-roll onto the grass below and enthusiastically smashing her fists against the ground, and Mahanon by abruptly dumping all this pebbles on Evelyn’s head and disappearing higher up into his tree. He then proceeds to throw down pine cones.

Evelyn quickly moves away from the tree, glaring at Herah as she comes in, “You left without warning! Herah! _Please._ ”

“I forgot,” Herah shrugs, reaching down to ruffle Ellana’s hair. Ellana hisses her protest and continues to smash her hands on the grass. “Alright, sorry. _Mess with Evelyn_ , better?”

Ellana proceeds to roll on the grass and then lie down on her face. Mahanon stops throwing pinecones but he doesn’t come back down. Varric would wager that they aren’t going to be seeing him for another half day or so.

“Sorry? You just _left_ us,” Evelyn throws her arms up, “You just left without warning. In the middle of hostile and unknown territory! _I thought you were taken_.”

“Weird how they’d take me instead of the _Inquisitor of Thedas_ ,” Herah muses. “I forget, alright?”

“You forget to tell your team that you’ve gone off?” Evelyn repeats.

“Look,” Herah holds her hands up placatingly. Varric looks back and forth between the two. You can’t make this shit up. He should be taking notes. “Listen, Trevelyan, I’m a _rogue_. We do stuff based on stealth. We don’t generally broadcast our intentions to everyone - that defeats the point. It’s a habit.”

“ _Your team!”_ Evelyn repeats, voice cracking with stress, “You don’t tell your _team_ things? Herah, you’re one of my highest ranking officers and you _don’t tell your team your own plans_?”

“Well when you put it _that_ way of course it sounds _bad_.”

-

“There is something not right about that woman,” Sun-Hair says, standing next to Evelyn.

Evelyn knows immediately who Sun-Hair refers to. Who else?

No one is as immediately _other_ on sight as Ellana Lavellan. They all have their strange pieces. Ellana’s are just harder to hide.

Evelyn turns and follows Thane Sun-Hair’s line of sight. Ellana and Storvacker sit side by side, silently.

“There is no one who would be so at ease, so natural with our holdbeast,” Sun-Hair says, “Not like that. Storvacker senses it, too. Something different, something queer.”

It is because there is a beast inside of her, too, Evelyn does not say.

Ellana’s hurts are not Evelyn’s to explain away. So she does not.

“It’s a good thing, to be understood and at ease,” Evelyn says instead, and Thane Sun-Hair nods slowly.

“It is a rare and precious thing,” She acknowledges, “Be careful with that one, Inquisitor.”

“I trust her with my life and the Inquisition’s welfare,” Evelyn assures the woman who just shakes her head.

“No. I have no doubt you do. She is your battle-mate and your close friend. It is as clear as the mark on your hand. That is not what I meant,” the woman says. “I meant, be careful with her - with that sort of nature and peace, the storm comes too fast and without warning. Watch her. She may fall.”

Again - she has already fallen. There is nothing to say you cannot fall more than once.

“I appreciate your advice,” Evelyn says.

Thane Sun-Hair laughs, “Speak plainly, low-lander. You don’t like me meddling. I am not offended.” The woman’s eyes glitter with the sun she’s named for, “But it is good to have friends like those, Inquisitor. Treasure them and they will lead you far.”


	66. Chapter 66

"You found Maxwell _attractive_?” Herah’s eyebrows raise up her face and Mahanon scowls at her, ignoring Maxwell’s excited beaming.

“It was a mistake,” Mahanon says as Maxwell laughs, reaching out to hug him. Mahanon dodges, sliding around to Herah’s other side, “It was a purely physical assumption made on _purely_ topical points such as skin tone, facial structure, and breadth of shoulders.”

Maxwell reaches out with gabby hands for Mahanon. Mahanon ducks under his arms and starts to climb a nearby tree.

“Aesthetically there’s a symmetry to his face that is pleasing to the eye.”

“I knew you listened to Dorian about his rants to Vivienne and the decline of art,” Kaaras muses, entirely and completely delighted with these turn of events. It’s not very often that _he_ isn’t the one who’s being thoroughly embarrassed by everyone else. It’s such a strange and refreshing turn of events. Kaaras doesn’t doubt that this will flop back over onto him later, in some way, and it will be just as horrific but he’s enjoying this right now.

Mahanon hisses at him, disappearing entirely up the tree.

“You thought I was _handsome_ ,” Maxwell calls up the tree, side-stepping a rock that Mahanon must have kept on his person before climbing up. “Mahanon! I _knew_ you cared. Deep, deep down.”

“Ah yes, because finding someone physically attractive is _caring_ ,” Mahanon sneers, leaves rustling as he moves between trees until he’s on the other side of them, “It was obviously a mistake. You ruined it by _opening_ your mouth and I decided that whatever physical beauty you had was absolutely ruined by whatever nonsensical whimsy is inside.”

“He likes my face,” Maxwell says, elbowing Kaaras, “And possibly my body, too.”

“It’s a nice face that just begs to be punched,” Herah agrees, “Relax, Mahanon. No one’s going to think any less of you for falling for the honey trap that’s Maxwell’s face. I think most people think he’s quite attractive before he starts talking and the horror of his inane and innate blathering sets in.”

“I know you’re all trying to be hurtful to me right now,” Maxwell says, “But I’m just feeling very good about myself. I was found physically attractive to Mahanon. No wonder you’ve mostly stopped stammering, Kaaras. This is such a huge ego boost.”

“As if you needed one?” Herah snorts. “Kaaras coax your lover out of the trees. He’s such a prissy cat, I swear. Relax, Mahanon. I can _hear_ you bristling.”

-

“Maxwell’s working on getting the Lavellans down,” Edric says, “They found them in the rafters of one of the old towers. Bull and Kaaras are the only ones tall enough to reach, but they’re mostly non-responsive and Maxwell’s talking seems to be helping as background noise to calm them down. How are things here?”

“Herah’s knocked herself out again,” Evelyn replies, “We’re working on it. Everyone else?”

“Good and accounted for,” Sera says, “What the fuck happened?”

Evelyn drags a hand over her face, “I don’t know. I was - I was dreaming? But there was something wrong, and next thing I know Malika was shaking me awake and it was really disorienting. I think - Solas and Cole were there? In the dream? Trying to get me to wake up.”

“It grows,” Cole whispers, standing at Evelyn’s elbow, so close she can feel the strange sort of damp chill that follows him, “It goes through your heart, a spark that can’t be put out but only managed.”

“Good thing dwarves don’t dream, I guess,” Edric says. “And good thing you snapped out of it fast.”

None of them would like to know what would happen if Evelyn’s mark went out of control during a possibly demon caused nightmare.

Evelyn holds her hand over Herah’s forehead and focuses on healing the woman. Either Herah has the self control to knock herself out before she does anything rash, or whatever was in the nightmare was trying to get Herah to break her brains out.

Evelyn shivers. “How were the Lavellans?”

“Creepy,” Sera says, “Like owls without eyelids. All you could see of them were those big eyes.”

“You have the same big creepy eyes,” Edric points out.

“Yeah, but I don’t look like _that_ ,” Sera replies. “They almost had Mahanon down but they couldn’t get Ellana down with him. They were stuck on each other and not changing anytime soon. Not talking, either. Just sitting. Clinging.”

-

“I thought you’d be more broken up about Solas leaving,” Malika says. Ellana raises an eyebrow. “He was more like you two than anyone else aside from Dalish.”

Ellana talks now, not very often, and it’s hard to get used to, but she talks and she even wears clothes sometimes though the stuff she wears makes her look exactly like all the stories and pictures of warrior elves from the books and murals on old cave walls and old banned books.

“You learn to know that there are people meant to leave you,” Ellana says, calmly, blinking slowly, gently. “You learn to recognize the people meant for leaving. The loss of him is sad, but it does not reach me deeply.”

“That’s deep,” Malika says. Ellana’s fingertips are light on Malika’s shoulder, “I get attached easy, I guess.”

“That is a beautiful thing, to have a heart that is touched and touches others,” Ellana says, “It is a most wondrous thing, to have a heart that flourishes without walls.”

“You know, Pearl,” Malika says, “You really would have made a great Keeper.”

Ellana’s mouth turns up at the corners, just a little.

“Do you think we’ll find him? There are - there are still so many questions I wanted to ask, I think we all wanted to still ask questions,” Malika says, and then softly, “I thought we still had time.”

“Perhaps,” Ellana says, “I’m sure Leliana is working on it.”

Malika nods, the smallest motion of her head before she shifts her weight on the balls of her feet, “I’m going to go help Uncle Edric pack. He always forgets stuff.”

Ellana watches Malika slowly walk away. The girl’s been saddened by Solas’ abrupt departure. She, Ellana thinks, out of all of them was closest to him.

“What pretty words, sister,” Mahanon’s voice is very quiet, and very close. Ellana turns, not moving as Mahanon emerges from the shadows he was hiding in. They stand shoulder to shoulder. “You did not tell her, how kind of you.”

“We could be wrong,” Ellana says, “And she loved him dearly.”

“I have a lead,” Mahanon says, voice dropping - barely a whisper. “I should leave to begin the tracking soon. I need an excuse to leave Skyhold.”

“You should spend more time with Dorian and Kaaras, he’s meant to leave.”

“Dorian will put it off for as long as he can, Kaaras and I both know this,” Mahanon says, “We have time and the trail grows cold, Keeper. Should I tell the Spymaster?”

“I do not trust her with this hunch of ours,” Ellana says, “Tell Evelyn. I’ll come up with the rest.”

They lean against each other. They are both familiar with the people who are meant for leaving.

Ellana, after all, has been leaving Mahanon in waves all their lives.

How strange, Ellana thinks, being on the other side. The one who is left.

They turn their faces, lips brushing cheeks at the same time.

“I would wager,” Ellana says softly, “That he is doing something foolish. I wager that he is running.”

“I know better than to wager against you,” Mahanon replies. “I wager that you’d be right.”


	67. Chapter 67

“You know, if you  _really_  wanted to learn Necromancy I’d ask Dorian,” Kaaras says, as they try to be subtle about staring at Evelyn’s new  _trainers_  as they mill about the courtyard. “No offense to the Mortalitasi, I mean. I mean that - well. I mean, yes he’s from Nevarra and most likely incredibly skilled. I’m not trying to say that - that a Tevinter mage is better than a  _Mortalitasi_  at necromancy, but. Um.”

“Yes, I know,” Evelyn says, leaning on the stone wall and putting her head in her hands, “Dorian is Dorian and excels in his craft because he’s Dorian Pavus, Altus originally of Minrathous, yes.”

Kaaras shrugs and tentatively pats Evelyn on the back.

“And you’re going to tell me that if I want to study the Fade I should just ask Solas.”

“Well - it seems like the easiest and most expedient way to go about learning about the Fade is to - “

“Ask the person who regularly dreams it and has studied it for his entire life in comparison to the burgeoning sect of researchers who are only now starting to study it due to the abnormalities caused by the Breach?”

“Yes,” Kaaras says, leaning on the wall next to her. “Do you still need me for this conversation?”

“I need you for the sympathy part. If it’s just me it’s just wallowing,” Evelyn remarks, “And if I wanted to learn how to use a spirit blade?”

“Mahanon knows blade work and it honestly can’t be too different between a real sword and a mana based one,” Kaaras says. “And Ellana would know the real lore of the thing.”

Kaaras sounds a little uncomfortable, Evelyn looks up and sees him glancing over his shoulder towards Vivienne’s balcony.

“Yes, I know,” Evelyn pats his arm, “It’s uncomfortable all around. I talked to the trainer  _once_  and I just felt - “

Evelyn shudders.

Kaaras frowns at his hands, “I don’t understand how they can take something that is so clearly  _not theirs_  and say it is. And then say such terrible things about the source material.”

“Humans are terrible creatures,” Evelyn says, “And quite frankly there are times when I wonder what the hell the Maker was thinking.”

“Evelyn,” Kaaras says slowly, “You’re a human.”

“The way people treat me you’d think I wasn’t,” Evelyn grumbles, “That being said - I am very interested in learning how to fight with a spirit blade but  _not from her_. Could they not have found a slightly less offensive person? I like to think I’m patient and somewhat tolerant of such pomp but maybe I’m growing old or the Inquisition is truly wearing on me because -  _ugh!_ ”

“So what will you do?” Kaaras asks.

“Well, my choices are -  _My Trainer_ ,” Both Evelyn and Kaaras shake their heads a little, “Commander Arrogance, and the Necromancer.”

Evelyn lets out a heavy sigh, “For my sanity I’d have to chose necromancy. I’m not particularly thrilled about it, though. Do you think I could just have Solas teach me Force magic on the side?”

“Why not?” Kaaras asks, “I’m sure he’d be thrilled to have someone to talk at who can’t talk back.”

“How do you mean?”

“If he’s formally teaching you, Evelyn, you actually have to  _listen_  to him,” Kaaras says, eyebrows raising as a look of dawning realization and dread blooms in Evelyn’s eyes. “That means no arguing, no debating, no talking back. You’d officially be his student,  _not a fellow scholar_.”

-

“I’m not sure if you’re sneaky or just dumb lucky,” Sera says. “Either way, I don’t ever want to go anywhere with you ever again. Pain of death. Literally. Take the demon. The demon doesn’t get hurt. And if it did I don’t care.”

“Let me know when you’ve decided which,” Maxwell replies as he hefts Edric over his shoulder and braces the other against a collapsed wall, pushing. He decides not to address Sera’s address of Cole at this particular moment. He will later, but right now there are more pressing and immediately dangerous things to consider. Like the building he’s keeping from collapsing about them because he’s holding up the one wall that’s keeping the entire thing from caving down flat on top of them. “And hurry on out because I’m not Herah levels of powerful, I’m not going to be able to carry Edric, hold this wall, and wait for you to take your time. Unfortunately, Herah’s more of the gentleman in that regard.”

“I know, I wasn’t gonna say ‘cos I didn’t want to hurt your feelings, but since  _you_  said,” Sera teases, ducking under his arm and crawling out from the wreckage. “Shove the dwarf up the hole, I’ll drag’m out.”

“Dirty,” Maxwell laughs, carefully twisting his body to lower Edric onto the slope while still keeping the wall propped up as much as possible. “Oh man, I’m getting old. My back.”

Edric disappears up the small tunnel shaft that Sera went through. He doesn’t even wake. Maxwell pushes down the wiggling fingers of concern because Maxwell should probably figure out how  _he’s_  getting out of here before being concerned about the people who are already out.

“You coming or what?” Sera calls down, “Sooner rather than later, please.”

“I’m trying to figure out how to go about this,” Maxwell says, “Do you think this place will collapse if I move?”

Sera is quiet and then, “Ah, shit.”

“That’s not very reassuring, Sera,” Maxwell says. He can feel the wall start to slip - and the remains of the three story building on top of it are sort of groaning ominously. “So, I let go of this wall. Maybe it holds up? Then I crawl through the tunnel of things to freedom. Sera, the tunnel looks like it’s getting smaller. Tell me that’s an illusion of light.”

The light from outside is flickering, like the tunnel is slowly caving in, like Maxwell is, under the weight of  _a three story building._

Maxwell is never exploring an abandoned village for clues ever again. Even if Evelyn asks him very nicely.

-


	68. Chapter 68

“You drugged my cousin?” Evelyn stares at the scene in front of her in complete horror.

The two elves standing over Maxwell’s unconscious body seem to have none of her deep and powerfully moving concern.

“Yes,” Mahanon says, “ _You’re welcome_ , Trevelyan.”

“What did you drug him  _with?”_ Cassandra asks, cradling Maxwell’s head in her lap as she tentatively tries to get him to wake up.

The two elves glance at each other, blinking before turning back to Cassandra, “Nightshade.”

 _“What_?” Evelyn bellows out, along with Cassandra and Stitches who had been in the middle of mixing some smelling salts at a window by the table.

“You  _poisoned him_?” Cassandra yells, looking torn between standing up to strangle the two elves or punching Maxwell awake.

Mahanon and Ellana both scowl.

“Who do you think we  _are_?” Mahanon snaps, “Rank amateurs? That we’ve never knocked someone out before?  _Modified nightshade_. He’ll wake up in an hour.”

“You drugged my cousin with  _nightshade_ ,” Evelyn repeats, trying to emphasize how  _not good_  that is to the two oblivious elves.

“I’m not hearing a  _thank you_ , which I am informed is the polite and civilized thing to do when someone does you a favor out of the goodness of their character,” Mahanon says, crossing his arms. Ellana nods.

“For  _poisoning him_?” Cassandra glares at the two.

Mahanon closes his eyes and lets out a long-suffering sigh. As if he’s the one here who’s dealing with a crisis.

“ _Thank you_ ,” Mahanon says, “Mahanon and Ellana for preventing my cousin Maxwell from doing something truly stupid in a fit of desperation and stupid, blind, self-sacrificial loathing. Thank you for stopping him at whatever necessary cost and personal struggles you yourselves would have with subduing someone you consider your - “

Mahanon pauses and grimaces. Ellana elbows him and clears her throat pointedly.

“ _Friend_ ,” Mahanon sneers, “So he could avoid doing irreversible damage to his person.”

The elves fix pointed stares at Cassandra and Evelyn.

Evelyn supposes that they did have a point. Though nightshade seems so -  _extreme_.

“Thank you for stopping him from taking the lyrium,” Cassandra says quietly.

The three of them focus on her and she’s holding Maxwell’s head in her lap, a soft and fluttering thing around her face. A gentle sort of breathing.

“Thank you,” She repeats voice strained, “ _Thank you_.”

Mahanon softens and Ellana moves around him to slowly put her arms around Cassandra’s shoulders. Her dark hair bleeds into Cassandra’s as she hums softly, rubbing Cassandra’s arms with long and firm sweeps of her hands.

Evelyn slowly kneels next to the cot and covers Maxwell’s hands with her own.

“Cousin,” Evelyn whispers, “I wish you could see - you were always the far more passionate one than me.”

-

Ellana and Malika slowly look at each other, bright impossible smiles spreading over their faces before they start to giggle.

Bull and Solas glance at them, “What?”

“You  _like each other_ ,” Malika sing-songs.

Ellana smiles, looking between the two men, arm around Malika’s shoulder.

Solas looks baffled. Bull looks affronted.

“We do  _not_  like each other,” Solas says.

“No,” Malika says, covering her mouth as she laughs, looking between them. “You act all tough and talk big but you two would  _so_  miss each other if the other one went away.”

Ellana nods, smiling her laughing smile at them with her eyes.

“The dwarf is broken,” Bull concludes.

Ellana shakes her head, “ _Mm-mm_.”

“You arrive at this conclusion falsely and solely based on the projected feelings the two of you have for the two of us and each other,” Solas says, eyes narrowed at the smiling women, “I may  _respect_  the Iron Bull and some parts of him, but I do not have overly affectionate feelings for him.”

“Same,” Bull says, “He’s good at sleeping his life away and talking shit, but otherwise he’s an existence I’m happy to ignore.”

The two men return to glaring at each other.

“I have you in check in five,” Solas says.

“That assumes that I move my knight in four, again, based on the assumption that I move my castle at two. I won’t. I am not in check in five,” Bull replies.

“And what, you’ll move your queen instead?” Solas replies, cooly, “I doubt it.”

“You only doubt it because you think you can capture my queen faster that way,” Bull says, “You’re overlooking something.”

“They  _totally_  like each other,” Malika says to Ellana.

Ellana nods, idly winding her finger through the end of Malika’s braid and fixing it where strands of hair have escaped.

“I think they like having someone to argue with,” Malika concludes as the two men go off into some sort of argument about their mental chess match. “Also maybe they like having someone their age to talk to.”

Ellana tilts her head and makes a twirling motion at her head.

“Cullen doesn’t count because he’s too busy for verbal spars, and I don’t think he’d like it very much,” Malika replies as the two of them walk away from the bickering elf and Qunari. “And Blackwall’s - well. He’s  _Blackwall_. I once tried to ask him about how the Wardens are so good at relaying orders and stuff if they’re across so many countries but he just grunted at me until I shut up and left.”

Ellana hums a few bars of a song Malika recognizes from when Sera and Herah get into drinking contests with the Chargers and con them out of all their spending money.

After a moment or two Malika frowns, “I wonder why they don’t like Vivienne, then. I mean - I think Solas likes her when they’re both working on getting Dorian or Evelyn or Kaaras down when they’re all doing their mage group discussion thing. And I think Bull just likes to stay out of Vivienne’s way. But I wonder why they don’t like talking to her more. She’s smart and she’s really clever and she’s really good at the word games and things.”

Ellana taps at her temple and then makes a quick series of sharp hand gestures with the hand that’s not on Malika’s shoulder.

“She’s  _too_  smart?” Malika frowns, not sure she’s reading that right.

Ellana makes another set of gestures, this time indicated something in the chest.

“Oh, she’s too - proud?” Malika confirms, “She’s too Orlesian?”

Ellana nods.

Malika turns this over in her head, “I guess it makes sense. I mean - you could say Dorian is too Tevinter and stuff, but - well. De Fer is very proud of what she’s done. Rightly so, I think. Based on what I’ve learned about Circles and the Orlesian court. I suppose I wouldn’t want to hang around someone who always looks down on me and plans on how to best use me to their better purpose though. Nice catch, Pearl!”


	69. Chapter 69

“Are they - are they having a tug of war over Ellana?” Edric asks as he watches the hart in the pen drag Ellana back by her dress, while the Iron Bull holds onto Ellana’s hand and tries to get her over to his side. Ellana seems confused by the whole proceedings and isn’t appearing to be going one way or the other.

“Yes,” Varric confirms.

“And you’re not helping one way or the other either.”

“Busy.”

“Doing?”

“Writing this down as quickly as I can to send over before my next deadline,” Varric answers. Edric sighs. “I wouldn’t if I were you.”

“What?”

“I know that sigh. That’s the sigh of someone who thinks they’re responsible about to go do the responsible thing.”

“Thinks?”

“Trust me on this,” Varric claps the other dwarf on the shoulder, “This? Not your problem. Sit back and watch it happen. Also, Evelyn went over to try and help earlier - “

“Earlier? How long has this been going on?”

“You remember how there was supposed to be a scouting party to help clear one of the quicker but narrower trails? Ellana was supposed to be on that scouting party. The stag didn’t approve, Bull came to find Ellana because apparently Curly asked people to help look for her, and now here we are. Tug of war, Dalish style.”

“What happened when Evelyn tried to help?”

“Bull said he had it under control. The stag made this ear-rending scream through its teeth,” Varric answers.

“And?”

“And she decided she had better things to do so she left.”

“And you were here writing this down the entire time? Not even going to pretend to help?”

“Of course not, Cadash, that’d be a waste of time and everyone knows it. And no, I wasn’t writing the whole time. First I was sitting and watching. Then I left right around when Bull tried to reason with the animal. Then I came back after dropping off some messages I needed to get sent out. I sat down here and started to read my mail. That’s right around when the stag decided to try reasoning with Tiny - “

“It tried to what?”

“ - and then I only started writing when Ellana got tired of being stuck between them and tried to climb over the fence as she does. Then the stag got her by the clothes and here we are. I’m amazed she stood still so long to start with, actually.”

Edric looks at Varric then back at the pen.

Ellana has gone limp and is just being not quite pulled, but just  _held_  between the two giants. A Qunari giant and a giant deer. Neither of them are pulling, presumably because they don’t want to hurt her.

A sudden flurry of sound erupts from the direction of the training yard and Varric looks up to see four scouts on horses riding in, looking completely out of breath.

“Sudden wind in the valleys,” One yells out, “Lost half the scouting party. Gather help, we need to clear it as soon as possible - there are people trapped under the snow.”

“I’m guessing that’s the same scouting party Ellana was to be on,” Edric says as they turn to look at the stalemate at the pen.

Bull has let go.

The deer has also let go, put his head over Ellana’s and is honking right in Bull’s face.

Bull looks completely unamused by this.

Ellana starts honking too.

“All’s well that ends well,” Edric concludes.

-

“Evelyn’s the romantic type, Cullen might blunder and generally try to hold off for the rest of time because he’s peculiar like that, but Evelyn’s the romantic type. There’s going to be a sunset or sunrise somewhere in the background when they finally do kiss,” Herah says, holding up two gold coins.

“Hey, I said either with a dog or a horse nearby and you said I couldn’t say that because it was two different things,” Malika protests, tugging at Edric’s arm until he sighs and gives her two gold pieces, “Either you let me change mine to  _involving horse or dog_ or you pick one.”

Herah frowns, “Alright, fine. Sunrise. I’m betting on sunrise.”

“This all assumes that we see it happen, you realize?” Edric says.

“As if we won’t hear about it ten different ways within the hour that it does happen,” Sera rolls her eyes, “Two gold that Cullen starts it, then backs off and Evelyn finishes it. Two more royals says that they bump faces and get hurt or something.”

“No one is taking that because chances are that yes they’re going to bump noses or collide awkwardly because they’re  _Evelyn and Cullen_ ,” Edric frowns, “Two gold that they do it while stammering at each other and trying to be polite, all  _you first_  and  _no you_  and shit.”

“Shit, that’s a good one,” Varric says from where he’s writing all of this down and taking the gold. “You in, Mystery Man?”

Mahanon grunts, eyes closed as he leans back against the side of the fireplace, curled up in blankets and clearly trying too sleep, “Pass.”

“You’re Evelyn’s best friend, Mahanon,” Malika says, “Don’t you have any clues for us?”

“Cheating,” Herah says.

“I thought you’d approve, you’re the rogue.”

Herah blinks and then grins, reaching over to ruffle Malika’s hair, “Edric, you’ve got yourself a good kid here.”

“We have time for him to change his mind later,” Varric says, “Any other takers?”

“It will be on the ramparts,” They all turn and see Vivienne, holding up two gold pieces. She raises an eyebrow, “Well?”

“De Fer, you surprise and humble me,” Varric holds his hand out and she drops the two gold into it. “Did you come all the way down from your roost just for this?”

“Your table is situated next to the door to the library and in the middle of the great hall, Varric,” Vivienne replies. “And you all talk much louder than you think. Excuse me, Herah darling.”

Herah stands aside for Vivienne as she walks into the rotunda.

“She totally could’ve gone in from the upstairs,” Malika says about twenty seconds after the door is closed and everyone is sure the Enchanter isn’t coming back.

“She wanted in,” Sera says, “She’s gonna lose. Neither of them have it in them to kiss right out there on the ramparts.”

“Are we talking about the same Evelyn and Rutherford?” Mahanon mutters under his breath, “The two fools are a hairs breath away from exploding with tension.”

“Any hints at  _all_  Mahanon?” Malika presses, “For your favorite dwarf?”

“I don’t hear Edric asking me any favors.”

Malika gasps with fake hurt. Edric grins.

“Cold,” Varric shakes his head, “Stone cold.”

Mahanon grunts and pulls a blanket over his head, “Wake me when Dorian or Kaaras come to place their bets.”

“Why, so you can give them tips?”

“So I can try and convince Evelyn out of letting either of them win. I love them too much to lose them to Evelyn’s wrath if she finds out they won money on her love life.”


	70. Chapter 70

“What are the two of you fighting about  _now_?” Evelyn asks, exasperated as she looks between the two sullen elves.

“They’re fighting?” Varric asks.

“Yeah, they’ve been cross with each other,” Edric says, “You can tell by the way they’re sitting next to each other.”

“Cadash, I like to think that growing up in Kirkwall you get a keen sense for smelling bullshit but right now I honestly can’t tell if you’re being serious or not.”

“Maybe it’s an exposure thing,” Kaaras suggests, “You’ve smelt so much bullshit you can no longer tell.”

Varric snaps his fingers, “That’s actually a really good idea.” Varric abruptly sobers, “Andraste my life is falling into pieces.”

“Still in the process of falling?” Edric replies, “Come back to me when it’s finished. Then we can talk.”

“Why are you two fighting?” Evelyn asks, “The last time the two of you were fighting you pushed each other into a wyvern nest. I can’t have that happening again. Malika and Herah got into a wyvern killing contest and between you and me and the rest of us, the smell wasn’t pretty.”

“Ellana has so kindly sewn us our garb for the stupid shemlen dance party,” Mahanon says when Ellana - as expected - says nothing.

“Alright,  _and_?”

“And she’s embroidered  _Elgar’nan’s erect cock on the back of my neck_ ,” Mahanon hisses, turning his head to glare at the woman sitting next to him. “I am not walking into this thing with Elgar’nan’s  _penis on my body_.”

Ellana bares her teeth.

Kaaras chokes.

Evelyn turns her eyes skyward and breathes in slowly, “Is this - is this some sort of cultural, religious thing I should be made aware of?”

“No, it’s Ellana being a brat because she knows you’ll let her get away with it,” Mahanon replies.

“What did she put on hers?” Varric asks.

Mahanon flushes a brilliant red, slumping down in his seat.

“Ah, say no more,” Varric waves his hands.

Solas, who had - up until this point - been ignoring them, starts to shake suspiciously.

Mahanon twists around and glares at the back of the man’s head, “Just because you don’t believe in the Creators doesn’t mean you get to laugh at this.”

“I am not laughing,” Solas says, sounding incredibly sober for someone who - for all intents and purposes - looks like they’re about to fall down. Solas is gripping the edge of the table very hard and his shoulders continue to shake.

Mahanon sneers, clicks his tongue, and sits straight again.

Evelyn waits for Ellana to acknowledge her existence. Ellana does this by slowly stretching her foot out and touching her toes to Evelyn’s shin.

“Ellana,” Evelyn says taking a deep and attempting-to-be-calming breath, “Is this you giving the finger to all of Orlais in a very passive aggressive and subtle way?”

Ellana nods once.

“Ask her if this is revenge for me eating her last bag of walnuts,” Mahanon says.

“I hardly see why, she did just hear you.”

“She’s pretending not to.”

“Alright, fine. Ellana, is this you getting back at Mahanon for eating your last bag of walnuts?”

Ellana nods twice.

Mahanon gives Evelyn a look as if to say  _see_?

“Hey, Ellana, is this a fertility thing?” Varric asks.

Edric, Kaaras, and Evelyn turn to glare at him.

Ellana turns and flashes him a grin and two thumbs up.

Varric laughs, “Knew it.”

“We don’t have time for her to make new ones,” Mahanon says, “So now we’re arguing with each other because I don’t want to wear it but if I don’t I have to wear the infant blood jacket you’ve got.”

“Infant blood?”

Kaaras shakes his head and whispers to her, “Don’t ask.”

-

“Should we go on a date?” Herah asks and Josephine’s eyes stutter over the line she was reading.

“Pardon?” Josephine looks up and Herah smiles at her, long, loose white hair pulled over one shoulder as she leans on her hand. Herah tilts her head towards the window.

“The Commander and Inquisitor have gone out for the day. A nice ride out, just the two of them,” Herah says, “I’m glad things are working out for them. But it makes me wonder - would you like to go out as well, Josephine? I’m afraid there aren’t very many places I could take you. But I’m sure that I could find one worthy of luring you away from your work for at least a day.”

Herah’s eyes twinkle brightly, like her hair. Josephine feels the smile in her words, in her own voice, before it ever reaches her face.

“Herah, it doesn’t matter where we go. It only matters with whom you go to those places with. Besides, you don’t need an excuse or a day trip to have my attention. You already have it.”

“Ah, but an hour or two for tea and gossip five paces away from your desk is hardly a distraction from work,” Herah replies. “I would suggest the walking gardens of Val Royeaux  but I’m afraid that after my last - ah -  _visit_  to the city I’d attract too much attention.”

Herah’s grin is sheepish and charming and so amazingly wonderful.

Josephine reaches out, closing the book in her lap as she bridges the space between their chairs to tuck a strand of white hair behind  Herah’s ear. Herah obligingly leans forward and into the motion, a delicate rose flush blooming over her cheeks.

“You know I’m not mad at you for that, right?” Josephine asks, “It wasn’t your fault that you were tricked into showing up for a duel you didn’t set up.”

“Thank you,” Herah says, “I have to admit, at the time I think I was having a very small panic attack. I had no idea how to leave the situation without losing face as a member of the Inquisition.”

“I’m sure you were doing wonderfully,” Josephine says, letting her fingers linger on Herah’s face. “Perhaps not Val Royeaux - maybe - maybe somewhere by the sea?”

“I’m hoping you don’t mean the Storm Coast because there’s nothing romantic or calm about that place at all,” Herah raises an eyebrow. “The only people who would think that place as the perfect spot for a touch of romance and courtship would be Ellana and the Iron Bull and neither of them have an ounce of romance  _or_  courtship in their entire combined bodies.”


	71. Chapter 71

“Alright, everyone calm down. We’re all together and that counts for something. We all stand a better chance together than apart. So let’s all take a few seconds to be grateful,” Maxwell says, pushing between Stroud and Hawke. Maxwell hasn’t seen a pissing contest like this since - well, actually, since three days ago when Vivienne and Solas were at it again.

A small part of himself takes a second to marvel at how absolutely dramatic everyone is and how he somehow managed to get tangled up with so many theatrical people who haven’t managed to kill each other yet.

“I mean, let’s be honest,” Maxwell continues as he makes sure the two are safely apart. Hawke is Stroud is with Herah and an extremely ill looking Cole, and Stroud is standing next to Cassandra and an extremely wide eyed Malika.

Maxwell takes a moment to hope that Ellana is alright.

He turns around to look at Evelyn, and he gives her the most reassuring smile he has, “Your chances of surviving are greatly improved with  _me_.”

Herah snorts, hand resting on Hawke’s shoulder in warning, “Maxwell is partially right in that he’s been half-way trained to fight demons and he’s also very good at talking over people.”

“He’s right on the major point of we need to work together,” Evelyn says, turning her head to address Hawke, “Now is not the time for blame and responsibilities and problem solving. Right now we are in  _extremely dangerous hostile enemy territory_. We have no provisions, no supply, no back up. This is it. We either work together and find a way out of this or we end up in some serious trouble and the rest of the world will suffer for our inability to put our own feelings aside.”

Evelyn then turns towards Shroud, “There are things we will need to address. But not here, not now. The Wardens are not blameless, but they are not entirely at fault. There are many sides, many factors. Work with us and share what you know, we  _all_  have to do that right now.”

“Of all the people to say that,” Hawke says, “Shouldn’t you be the first to offer something up? You were here before.”

“I don’t remember it,” Evelyn says, “If I did I’d tell you what I do know. But I don’t. Let’s get to work.”

Maxwell keeps an eye on the others as they begin to look around, investigating for clues. Malika and Hawke have gone off towards a shimmering mirror. Maxwell wonders how  _that_  got here. Herah is examining the rocks. Cassandra is following Shroud. Cole is almost entirely translucent.

It hurts Maxwell’s heart and his head to look at him, so he turns away and wills Cole to feel, to know, that Maxwell is here for him. He just get look at him right now without getting a headache.

Maxwell focuses on his cousin and steps towards her, gently taking her arm.

“Are you alright?” Maxwell says, softly. “Is this place - anything?”

“It doesn’t feel familiar if that’s what you’re asking. I don’t remember anything, Max,” Evelyn says, shaking her head as they walk over to join Hawke and Malika at the mirror. “Max, we need to get out of here. I don’t know how time works here, but every moment we’re here is another that more rifts are opening on the battlefield. It’s going to be a war of attrition.”

“We knew that it would be a siege, coz,” Maxwell reminds her softly, “We prepared for that.”

“A siege against Wardens - cut off from supply lines in the  _desert_ ,” Evelyn says, “Not a siege against endlessly spawning demons. We will lose. That can’t happen.”

Maxwell agrees wholeheartedly, “Then we’d best get walking, no? Come on, buck up, Evelyn. You did this once and you were alone and unconscious for it. I’m sure with all of us with you and yourself being fully awake and in control of your faculties you should pull it off again.”

Evelyn shakes her head and Maxwell ruffles her hair earning a smack to his chest. Evelyn hisses when her knuckles hit his plate. Maxwell laughs.

“I think I have an idea,” Malika says drawing them out of their conversation. She points towards what Maxwell considers the sky. “There’s another rift over there. Maybe that’s the one we fell from? I mean - maybe. We all kind of landed weird. It’s far off, but Herah was also up side down for about two seconds before she fell on Hawke.”

“And I thought Aveline was a lot of woman,” Hawke muses.

“You’re not as charming as you think,” Herah replies. “But keep going, I can see why Varric got a best seller off of you.”

“It’s the best idea we have,” Evelyn says, “Let’s go.”

-

“When you were in the fade,” Cassandra asks as Maxwell soaks in the feeling of the open sky and the vast illusion of limitless infinity from the desert sands, “What was it you saw?”

“How do you mean?” Maxwell asks, turning to her. Cassandra’s eyes are sleepless. Maxwell thinks that most of them have been sleepless, for one reason or another.

Two of their company have gone missing, Malika has clamped down and retreated into herself - it was her first real battle, and Maxwell doesn’t blame her or think any lesser of her for one second for it - , Kaaras and Dorian are worried sick and are also attempting to hold Cole together at the seams, and Evelyn is just.

Maxwell doesn’t know if he can even help Evelyn right now.

“The Inquisitor saw spiders,” Cassandra says, “Herah saw Tamassarans.”

Herah had said that very calmly, Maxwell thinks. He’s not very sure on what Tamassarans are; he knows that they’re some sort of position of power within the Qun, but beyond that not much else. But Maxwell knows that in that moment when the fear demons were working their magic around them, if anyone had asked Maxwell to open his mouth and speak their visages, he would not have sounded nearly as composed as Herah.

“I didn't see anything,” Maxwell says. It is only partially the truth.

He turns and looks over his shoulder at the many, many bodies of the Inquisition and the embers of campfires and torches. They should be planning their next move. They should be planning in general.

For some reason Maxwell can’t seem to shake it off to get to that part. The  _now_. The then. The nightmare.

“Alright,” Cassandra says, her voice is very soft. And gentle.

Maxwell turns around to look at her, and for a moment his heart stops. He can’t help but see the nightmare’s illusion again. For a split second, Maxwell can’t breathe, can’t see.

“You don’t have to tell me, Maxwell,” Cassandra says and Maxwell shakes his head. “I mean it. There are some things - some things that can’t be said. That hurt you.”

Maxwell wants to say  _like Anthony?_

He doesn’t.

“I saw the demons just fine, as normal demons,” Maxwell tells her. He can say this much. “I’m not especially afraid of demons.”

Maxwell focuses on the shadows and how they are very quiet on Cassandra’s face, how they’re very much at home there. The shadows of the desert are somehow soft and velvet compared to normal shadows, he thinks. A warm flutter traces its fingers over his ribs, coming together in a sparkling point in the center of his chest.

“It was - it was the rest of you,” Maxwell says carefully, sorting through the words and the not-words and the things-that-should-not-be-made-into-words. “I couldn’t see your faces.”

Maxwell focuses on where Cassandra’s eyes are, he focuses and wishes that he had Sera’s or Kaaras’ night vision. So he could see the scar on her cheek, the line of her nose, the lean line of her lip.

He wishes he could see the details of her.

Maxwell shivers involuntarily against the moment of  _fear_  - when he had turned to her and could not pick her face out from the colors of the night. That moment when his eyes failed to register Cassandra as Cassandra, but a faceless  _shape_.

“I forgot your faces,” Maxwell says, and his mind - treacherous as it is - realizes the fear into words,  _I had forgotten you_.


	72. Chapter 72

Mahanon feels tired. He feels beyond tired. Mahanon  _is tiredness_. He is weary and his bones want to rest and his blood crashes against his own veins, moving only by forces of gravity and time instead of desire and breath.

What Mahanon wants is to find Kaaras and kiss him. What Mahanon wants is to pull Dorian into his arms and breathe in the smell of his magic - hot, warm, a brush against the upper lip that leaves a single tingling sensation of  _promise_  and  _whispers in the night_. What Mahanon wants is to pull both men against his own body and hold them there until his bones realize that he has returned home.

What Mahanon wants is to take Dorian’s hand in his and kiss the back of it. He wants to lean his back against Kaaras’ chest and listen to his gentle breathing.

But that is another life, another Mahanon. A man who is not bound by other duties, sworn to a higher priority than peace.

Mahanon is here, among the dead and the demons and the still dying fires of blighted dragons and wrath made into heat. Mahanon is here, underneath the stars and the night sky and the dim light of the not-full moons watching the battle in this desert with half-interest.

Mahanon is here and that is his sister - and this is the promise between them made without words.

This is a promise that others tied around their necks.

 _She is your wife_ , Mahanon thinks.

 _She is my sister_ , Mahanon knows.

In both situations, Mahanon is bound to answer.

Ellana’s eyes do not flash or reflect as they would if she were in the shape she was born in. If Ellana was two-legged and bare skinned and shimmering eyed, this would not be a problem. Mahanon watches the black, lumpy silhouette of her from where he is just at the edge of the bodies and the debris of the ruin behind them.

Mahanon swallows softly under his breath, the night air is so cold and dry down his throat. His skin prickles with sweat and the cold desert wind.

Mahanon has no doubt in his heart that Ellana, too, wishes she could stay. That they could stay. He knows his sister. She knows how deep her hurt runs, her shame. Their shame.

And that is why Mahanon pulls in the dry night air, and  _wills_  his bones to move. That is why he stands, back turned to the dying fires and the living home that waits for them  _both_.

That is why Mahanon says, gently, “I’m coming for you.”

Ellana turns and runs.

Mahanon runs after her.

This is their fight, their war. It is not as completely and totally devastating, life robbing and ending, as the one they are leaving behind. But it is theirs.

Mahanon is tired, so very tired. But as long as his sister remains trapped in this cycle of change he will be with her. After all, what peace could he possibly know - or have a right to - if he were to leave her alone with this war?

-

“Is this what it’s like to be the  _competent_  group?” Maxwell whispers to Malika who nudges him with her elbow while trying to hide her laugh.

“I knew it would eventually pay off,” Herah says, ruffling Ellana’s hair as she makes faces at her brother across the room. Mahanon just scouts viciously at them and turns away, presumably to sulk in a different direction.

“This is an incredibly role reversal,” Evelyn says looking between the two groups, “And frankly, I don’t know what to say here aside from  _what is wrong with the three of you_?”

Kaaras hunches his shoulders and Mahanon sniffs, turning again to ignore Evelyn. Edric,  _poor, poor Edric_ , just looks  _done_. Tired. Beyond this, somehow.

“It was the most simple mission possible, it wasn’t even a mission. All you had to do was go in and introduce yourselves and be  _charming_ ,” Evelyn continues, “Alright. Honestly. I know you had something of a - shall we say,  _challenge_  with Mahanon.”

Everyone pauses to see if Mahanon will react to this. When he realizes that everyone is waiting on him he turns to glare at them and shrugs, “I am aware of my own personality. Get on with it.”

“Alright, so you three were somewhat at a disadvantage with Mahanon’s stunning lack of care towards appearances,” Evelyn says. “But _still_.”

Kaaras just hunches his shoulders further and Edric sighs, a long,  _long_  sound.

Evelyn then turns to Maxwell.

“Maxwell, I’m starting to think I should've assigned these groups differently because in hindsight I am beginning to realize how drastically imbalanced the charisma on these teams is distributed.”

“Only just now?” Maxwell asks.

“Ellana could charm, or at the very least,  _trick_ , anyone into a false sense of security,” Evelyn says and Ellana starts to preen. Mahanon glares at her as Ellana continues to make faces at him. “Malika is a young woman with a very bright personality and a very good sense for guiding conversation. Herah is - well.  _Herah_.”

“I appreciate that,” Herah says.

“They more than outweigh any sort of mishap you could come up with,” Evelyn finishes.

Maxwell frowns at her, “Evelyn, I’m very hurt by that. I’ll have you know that I was the star of this show.”

“A falling star,” Herah mutters and Ellana and Malika start giggling. Maxwell turns to look between the two women.

“I thought you two were on  _my_  side.”

“Only in the physical sense of how you divide the room,” Mailka says solemnly. Ellana nods. And then the two start laughing again.

“I am surrounded, literally, in women who live to mock me,” Maxwell says, “Evelyn, you’re entirely right. I should have been on the all men’s team. At least that way I’d be perfectly appreciated. Edric and I can commiserate over you and Malika, Kaaras and I are used to being picked on by Herah, and Mahanon thinks I'm handsome.”

Maxwell quickly steps behind Malika and turns them both in Mahanon’s direction. Mahanon is glaring at Maxwell fiercely and he’s got one of his daggers half-way drawn.

“You can’t hurt me because you like Malika,” Maxwell says. “And Malika, brave warrior that she is, wouldn’t let you.”

Evelyn groans and puts her head in her hands, “Can’t anything go right  _just once_?”

“I think the problem is that everything does go right  _just once_ ,” Edric says, “And then it never happens right ever again."


	73. Chapter 73

“You said you wanted a mouser,” Mahanon says, carefully adjusting his hold on the tabby cat in his arms, scratching underneath the cat’s chin as the cat squirms and generally just  _oozes_  satisfaction. “I got you a mouser. Now you cannot complain. Can we get back to real work?”

“You got me  _a baker’s dozen of cats_ ,” Evelyn replies, staring at the abundance of cats that are rubbing against Mahanon’s legs. There’s one riding his shoulder in addition to the one in his arms.

Ellana is sitting behind her brother and is also swarmed in cats.

Ellana meows and all the cats meow back.

The woman laughs, absolutely delighted with how things have turned out.

“Do not presume to tell me that Skyhold and it’s myriad of pests cannot satisfy the demand of  _thirteen cats_ ,” Mahanon says, eyebrow raised in challenge. “Especially not when you’ve been complaining about vermin for almost a month and a half incessantly.”

“It’s not  _incessantly_ ,” Evelyn protests. “I’m just - thirteen seems excessive.”

“For a  _castle_?” Mahanon’s fine eyebrows raise, “With  _lands_? And not to mention the multiple  _keeps, towns, villages, and hovels_  the Inquisition has deemed fit to claim for their own. And thirteen cats seems  _excessive_?”

Ellana makes a vague sound of amusement that comes out like a laughing hiss and all the cats are just - everywhere over the two elves.

They look like they’re multiplying before Evelyn’s eyes.

“And yet,” Mahanon continues, eyes narrowing, “You have room for - remind me, Evelyn,  _how many_  giant drooling lizards?”

“They’re not  _lizards_  - “ Evelyn starts and then stops because she’s already made the fatal mistake of acknowledging the point of the comment. She takes in a breath and slowly releases it. “Thank you, Mahanon, for the mousers. I, on behalf of the Inquisition, thank you for your hard work.”

She refrains from asking if he stole any of the cats.

Mahanon hums, nodding and then bends down to put the orange tabby down and to coax the black and white tom cat off of his shoulders. “So, does that mean we can get back to actual work?”

“Actual work? I wasn’t aware that we  _stopped_  doing actual work.”

Ellana lies down and the cats swarm over her, hiding her entire body from view as she becomes one giant mass of  _cat_.

Even the dark ink-cloud of her hair is covered in at.

Evelyn pinches the bridge of her nose.

“Interior decorating,” Mahanon says those two words like he’s saying  _the rack_  or  _the wheel_  or even  _the noose_ , “Is not  _real work_. Worrying about mice living in a dilapidated and abandoned castle is not real work.”

“Are you going to say repairing walls and thatching roofs isn’t real work, either, Mahanon?”

“No, that’s real work. And that’s work that is mostly under control and better left to more capable hands than mine or yours,” Mahanon says. Evelyn blinks at him in surprise and Mahanon gives her a very flat look. “Evelyn, I have never lived in a building with walls you could not dismantle and pack into the back of an aravel at a moment’s notice. And  _you_ , I should guess, are no carpenter or stone mason.”

Evelyn grimaces, “Alright, fair. So what is real work for  _us_  then?”

“Not hunting down mousers,” Mahanon says, “Hunting other things, yes.”

“Don’t say shems.”

“I didn’t have to, you did,” Mahanon replies, “I was thinking lyrium, clues, demons, Darkspawn, Red Templars - all these things in very vague details. You were the one who immediately thought  _shemlen_.”

“I’ve been hanging about you for too long.”

“Or not enough,” Mahanon shrugs, “Seeing as you couldn’t see that the two of us are not fit for carpentry and masonry without me giving you a very obvious explanation.”

-

“Edric,” Kaaras says, slowly sitting down next to Edric underneath an outcropping of copper red rocks, “Would you like some water?”

“The one the varghest died in?” Edric asks, “Or the one we fished poisoned bodies out of?”

Kaaras just holds out the water skin to him without comment. Edric contemplates what could possibly be in it for a moment, and then realizes that no matter where the water came from he’s still living an incredibly terrible work of fantasy and this really wouldn’t change anything.

He drinks the water. It tastes like the normalcy he daydreams about.

“You’ve got - “ Kaaras points at his own nose and Edric sighs. “It - it’s r..rather red.”

“Probably,” Edric says. “You got anything for it?”

Kaaras wordlessly starts rummaging through the pouches and purses and little pockets of his robes for some salve for Edric’s sunburn.

Kaaras is a good kid and Edric wishes Malika will learn something like calmness from him. Edric has no idea how Kaaras handled life as a mercenary because he can’t imagine Kaaras ever doing anything like that.

Of course, he’s seen Kaaras toss some pretty nasty shellwork around, but that’s different. Usually Kaaras is running for his life at the time and Edric thinks that those situations should not be counted against him. Kid wouldn’t hurt a fly, otherwise.

Malika’s told him that she’s seen Kaaras moving bees, snails, and other such small creatures about like he’s their personal carriage.

Kaaras holds out a small smooth wooden container and Edric takes it gratefully. 

The salve is cool and instant relief on his nose. He puts some on his cheeks and forehead for good measure.

“You need any?” Edric asks when Kaaras waves him off when he tries to hand it back.

“‘m fine,” Kaaras says, twiddling this thumbs a little, shoulders hunched as he tries to squeeze further into the shallow shade. It’ll be sundown soon and ideally it’ll cool down just as quick. Then it’d be freezing and they’ll be huddled by a fire wishing it were hot again.

Edric is going to have a word or hundred with Rutherford and Trevelyan when he gets back. Either they stick him somewhere where the temperature is constant or they let him rest his old bones at Skyhold like any decent folk should. He’s not  _soldier_ , Stone be damned, he’s just an average sort of guy from the Carta looking after his favorite and only niece.

“Are you alright?” Kaaras asks softly and Edric nods.

“It’s just hot is all,” Edric says, “I have a very delicate constitution.”

Kaaras snorts a laugh into his hand, turning away. Like polite and decent folk do.

This kid is way too soft to be part of this giant fuckup. _Paragons_.

“Mm..Malika said something along those lines when we left,” Kaaras says, “ _Mind my uncle for me, Kaaras. He’s very delicate_.”

“Is  _that_  why you’ve been hovering around me this entire time? Kaaras, you’re too good, did you know that? You should dump Lavellan and Pavus immediately. They don’t nearly deserve someone as nice as you.”


	74. Chapter 74

Evelyn wakes up overly warm, for once. An unusual deviation from her normal waking up cold and stiff and mourning the fire that’s gone out.

And she wakes up  _with Cullen_ , which is an entirely new development that she’s never been acquainted with. Honestly, in her dreams they don’t quite get to the part where she falls asleep in his arms and gets to wake up in them. She’s mostly  _in the middle_  of the events that would lead up to that. And it’s a  _very_  good lead up.

Cullen’s hair is an outright mess and makes him look five years younger and incredibly soft. Evelyn smiles, carefully moving her hand to run her fingertip across one golden curl. Cullen stirs a little and Evelyn quickly draws her arm back.

His eyes open, tired and bleary and he blinks quickly, coming more awake when he sees her.

He smiles and  _Maker_  she’s hopeless. She’s worse than Kaaras is over Mahanon and Dorian.

“Good morning,” Evelyn says and it’s a toss up between the cold air and the sheer  _happiness_  bursting in her chest as the cause of the warm tingling she feels in her face. She wonders which is the cause for the warm pink on Cullen’s.

“Morning,” Cullen says, voice low and rough with sleep and Evelyn’s toes curl. She grasps at boldness and shuffles a little closer to him, close enough she can see the dilation of his eyes and the wakeful purpose that’s dragging the corner of his lip up.

“Creators,” Evelyn near about jumps  _out of her own skin_  at the voice that’s coming from directly behind her and a familiar hand reaches over Cullen and smacks him in the face, pinching his nose before letting go. “Rutherford, your sexual appetites will never cease to be astounding. The Inquisitor of Thedas, my sister,  _and_  me? And now you want a morning go? Is this because of all those years of abstinence?”

Evelyn slowly looks over her shoulder and is horrified to see that Mahanon is lying down next to her, his face sullenly staring back at her as he attempts to fuse himself to her pillow. Evelyn then slowly turns and she sees that Cullen has gone white as a sheet, because Ellana has sat up behind him in all of her normal nude glory - her hair is a wild  _mess_  that actually baffles Evelyn a little with how it manages to get in that many directions at once - and she gives Evelyn a sleepy smile.

“I think I would remember this,” Cullen says slowly, “I probably  _should_  remember this.”

“Mahanon,” Evelyn says slowly, feeling her own spirit trying to force itself out of her body, her own  _will_ , her soul even, “ _Mahanon_.”

“Relax, Evelyn. He’s only joking. You know how he likes to tease.”

“Maxwell?” Evelyn turns and sees Maxwell stretched out on the divan, several blankets around him and on the floor is Kaaras curled around Dorian and Dorian curled around Malika, who’s holding onto Herah’s hand. “Is there  _anyone_  who isn’t in my bedroom right now?”

“Well, Uncle Edric isn’t here,” Malika says. Both Dorian and Herah grumble, patting at Malika’s face to get her to quiet.

Evelyn has the horrific thought of all of them possibly having a wild and depraved orgy - and for whatever reason the worst part of it all would be  _Malika being present_. It isn’t even the incest factor of Maxwell.

“I think you broke them,” Maxwell says, scratching his head as he yawns, drawing the blankets around his shoulders, “Maker, Evelyn, how do you stand it? It’s  _freezing_  up here. Who’s daft idea was it to install the Inquisitor in the highest tower where there’s no  _wind breaker_? With the large  _glass windows and doors_?”

“I can hear the two of you getting ready to spontaneously burst with anxiety,” Mahanon says, rolling onto his stomach and shoving his head underneath a pillow. “We all got drunk off our asses last night and came up here. Ellana is Ellana so no one could say no to her when she got in the bed. I drew the short straw and had to get in with the three of you. Apparently we’re supposed to make sure that the two of you remain pure and chaste until you’re sober.”

“Josephine said you’d want to remember the experience,” Malika says helpfully and is once again smothered by both Dorian and Herah.

Herah groans, “Never again. I should have listened to her and just gone to bed when she did. I shouldn’t have drunk with you all. Now I’m not even with Josephine, I have to wake up to you sorry lot.”

“I thought we were best friends, Herah, I’m very hurt,” Maxwell says slowly shuffling over to the fireplace to get a fire started.

Ellana gasps and flings her arm out to point at Maxwell.

“A man can have more than one best friend!” Maxwell replies, turning brown beseeching eyes at her, “Ellana, no, don’t break my heart like this. You know I love you, one doesn’t hold back someone’s hair when they’re vomiting and not love them a little. And you’ve held my hair back so many times.”

“Is it common in the South for you to talk so loudly during a hang over? Isn’t it just common courtesy to be quiet and say nothing at all?” Dorian asks, giving up on trying to silence Malika and rolling over to shove himself into Kaaras’ arms. Kaaras, still asleep, makes a soft happy noise.

Mahanon groans, “I could have been  _down there. With them_.”

“Ah, but then one of us would be stuck in the bed with the two of them, so,” Maxwell shrugs. “Is Rutherford okay?”

Evelyn quickly turns to look at Cullen who’s slowly sunk back onto the bed, arms folded over his face.

“Maker,” He wheezes. Ellana laughs and it sounds like ringing bells.

Everyone in the room groans, except for Malika, and Mahanon quickly whips the pillow off the bed an tosses it at her. She catches it and - as if it were a game - puts it on top of Cullen’s folded arms.

“Much appreciated,” Cullen says, voice muffled but unmistakably dry.

“It would be so much more appreciated if you’d all get out,” Evelyn says.

“I’m imagining the scandal now,” Maxwell says, “It reads something like a very bad joke. Two Qunari, a Tevinter, a former Templar, a dwarf, two Dalish elves, and the Commander of the Inquisition walk out of the Inquisitor’s bed chambers…”


	75. Chapter 75

"I'm surprised you didn't listen to Cassandra when she suggested you stay with her and Blackwall last night,” Kaaras says to Maxwell as they slowly -  _carefully_  - make their way down from Evelyn’s room to the main hall. Maxwell is entirely right, they’re going to look like a very, very peculiar spectacle. Tongues will wag. Rumors will fly. Stories will spread. Mahanon grumbles, arms wrapped around Kaaras’ neck as he stubbornly attempts to return back to sleep.

“Don’t be ridiculous, Kaaras. I’m trying to make a good impression on her,” Maxwell says, eyes bright and face looking annoyingly  _fresh_. There’s a bounce and perk to this step that Kaaras  _envies_. “If she knew what I was like after that much alcohol she’d loathe me just like all of you do. Except Ellana and Malika because they have hearts of actual  _gold_.”

“Sounds heavy," Malika says as Ellana jumps down the stairs, frustratingly coherent and dextrous given that she was drinking that elven - well. Kaaras isn’t sure what it was, but those bottles were so strong even  _Bull_  said no.

“She’d hate you because you come out of a bottle of spirits looking like a fresh daisy?” Herah says, squinting, and leaning heavily on Dorian who’s practically hugging the stone wall.

“Shh,” He hisses. “Everything  _echoes_.”

“Exactly right Herah,” Maxwell continues at the exact same volume, “No one likes someone who comes out of a bottle without any negative side affects. I mean, all of you are glaring at me - except for Mahanon who’s trying to sleep - and thinking about pushing me off the stairs, so I’m not wrong, now am I? I wouldn’t want Cassandra to see me like this and immediately decide that we can’t even start as friends on the principle of it all.”

“Instead she’s going to see all of us walk out of the Inquisitor’s quarters like we’re doing a very, very showy walk of shame,” Herah replies.

“What’s a walk of shame?” Malika asks.

“It’s what we’re doing right now,” Dorian says.

“Regular walking?”

“No one tell her,” Herah says, grimacing when a shaft of light passes over her face through one of the half-boarded up windows, “Someone trick Varric into doing it.”

“That’s mean of you,” The door to the stairwell opens, bombarding everyone with the sounds of the great hall. Everyone, except Maxwell, Malika, and Ellana, let out loud groans. “I brought you all hang over cures. I guess no one’s getting any, now.”

“I wasn’t part of this,” Mahanon says, climbing down off of Kaaras’ back and pushing past everyone else, “Give it here.  _Please_.”

“Desperation isn’t a good look for you, Lavellan,” Varric says, handing Mahanon a vial that the man throws back. “You aren’t going to even savor the taste of the potion that I so lovingly and carefully bribed people for?”

“No,” Mahanon says, “I’m savoring the feeling of the hang over leaving my body.”

“He’s a character,” Varric says as Mahanon strides past him and into the hall, head held high and back straight. Ellana follows after him.

Ellana and Mahanon leaving the Inquisitor’s quarters is nothing new. Mahanon is Evelyn’s best friend. Ellana goes where Ellana goes.

And then Malika walks out.

“Well. Someone’s got to bite it,” Maxwell says, and then steps aside, “Ladies first, Herah.”

“You’re such  _bullshit_ , Trevelyan,” Herah says, but steps forward and takes the next vial, drinking it with a grimace, “Ugh. That’s foul.”

“But worth it.”

“Yeah,” Herah says, clearing her throat and nodding it, “Worth it to face the day. Here goes.”

Herah steps out of the stairwell and into the great hall and that’s when the glances start up.

“Who’ll it be next, gents?” Varric waves the three vials in his hand, “Or are you going to wait for Evelyn and Rutherford to make their grand entrance with you?”

“Maker - fine, I’ll do it,” Dorian says, “Everyone’s talking about me anyway. Might as well.”

Dorian takes the next vial and then coughs, sputters, face contorting in disgust, “How did they do that in one go? Ugh. Did Vivienne make these? She did, didn’t she? I can taste her petty, petty spite.”

And then Dorian walks out.

Kaaras sighs and reaches out for the second vial, “Alright.”

“Wait,” Maxwell puts his hand over Kaaras’ and then takes a vial for himself. “Let’s give them a true finale, Kaaras. You and me.”

Kaaras’ face is entirely resigned but he shrugs, a small smile flickering across his face, “I suppose it can’t get much worse.”

“Cheers to imagined sexual escapades that we definitely aren’t having, but after this, no one will believe,” Maxwell says and they gently tap their vials together before knocking them back.

Kaaras almost retches and Maxwell turns bright red.

“Ugh, they weren’t kidding,” Maxwell wheezes, pounding himself on the chest, “Andraste’s blessed and most sacred flame, that’s -  _oomph_.”

“Yup,” Kaaras croaks, “It’s definitely got that  _oomph_.”

“Your crowd awaits you, gentlemen,” Varric says, waving at the door.

“Shall we, Kaaras?” Maxwell holds his arm up and Kaaras rolls his eyes but loops his arm through anyway.

“There’s no going back, is there?” Kaaras says, feeling the rush of blood to his face, the warm prickle of it at the back of his neck and about his ears. Sometimes he wishes her were at least half as confident and laid back as Herah is.

“Not from fake sexual adventures among friends, no,” Maxwell replies. “You know - we should all just hang around here and wait for Cullen and Evelyn to come down. What say you - some magical flashing lights, some shiny paper sequins tossed about, perhaps even a cake?”

“I think you’re having too much fun at all of our expenses and that you’ve made a good call about not letting Cassandra know what you’re like after that many drinks,” Kaaras says as they walk into the great hall to many,  _many_  whispers and glances and stares. “I also think that I’m going to hide in the library with the Tranquil. At least if they make comments it wont be fishing for gossip.”


	76. Chapter 76

“What happened to discretion?” Cullen asks as he considers looking anywhere else but here. Lovely wall hanging, really. The mold and worn edges and the almost entirely faded dye give it real character.

“Overrated," Mahanon says. “I did my job. Dead blackmailing, lecherous, morally absent, unscrupulous, arrogant - “

“I do  _know_  what he’s done wrong,” Cullen replies wryly eyes flicking to Mahanon to give him a vaguely annoyed look - it’s not like Mahanon is wrong in any of his points, he’s just being something of an ass about listing them off like that - , “I  _did_  put this request through to Leliana, myself, after all. I also happen to remember noting that it’s not something that any of my own soldiers could do because  _it would require discretion_. Something I had, for reasons I’m beginning to doubt and think I possibly hallucinated, thought her own people would have.”

“I thought you’re supposed to be a gentleman, aren’t you going to help me move the body?” Mahanon says, ignoring Cullen.

“I’m not supposed to be involved in this, I only came to check on progress,” Cullen says, “I didn’t realize you were going to kill the man  _tonight_. In our  _checkpoint_.”

“Then you have been left out of the communication between myself and the spymaster and for that I would be sorry except I don’t think that’s a real excuse,” Mahanon replies. “Help me move the body. It’s easy to make them fall, it’s much harder to drag them to a more convenient location when they’re armed to the teeth and I don’t have the patience to strip him naked. Though that would be amusing to have hanging out a window or something.”

“We are not hanging him out a window,” Cullen says, sighing and turning around to view the scene fully.

The man’s face is fixed in a wide-eyed, open-mouthed visage of pure terror, blood flecked over his teeth and lips and smearing down his chin and cheeks. There’s blood splatter on the floor.

“Now everyone’s going to know we had him offed,” Cullen says, brusquely taking the man under the arms, grunting as he shifts him forward. Cullen grimaces at the texture of blood on his gloves. Mahanon moves around to grab the feet.

“Everyone’s going to know we did it anyway,” Mahanon replies nodding his head towards the wall as they move the heavily armored and  _dead_  noble, “This is more of a dramatic statement.”

“I thought you left the theatrics to your sister,” Cullen muses, “Or perhaps you both are dramatists. I feel sorry for Kaaras - between you and Dorian he must spend quite a lot of time sorting through monologues and exaggeration.”

“As if you’re any better, classicist?” Mahanon retorts, “I’ve heard you and Dorian arguing about interpretation of texts through  _walls_. I never knew you  _weren’t_  a romantic.”

The tips of Cullen’s ears start to tingle and he clears his throat, “The writing was clearly portraying the young couple as a farce! There was nothing  _sincere_  about that story at all! It was meant to highlight - “

“I have a feeling we’re thinking of two different situations,” Mahanon cuts in, “Which makes this all entirely all the more amusing. Put him here. I’ll arrange the body. As I was saying earlier, it doesn’t matter  _how_  I removed him, everyone knows the Inquisition would have taken care of him. No one else has the spine or soul to do so, Rutherford. Congratulations on being the one person in the continent with power and strength of character to follow through on an incredibly obvious loose end.”

-

“So,” Sera says, falling onto the wooden bench next to Malika, her knees knocking against Malika’s and her entire body falling like sticks - rattling and rustling and angles and lines - as she tries and fails for casual. “Dagna’s cute.”

“Yup,” Malika says, eyeing Sera, because normally they don’t talk about girls so much as they talk about injustices done to the defenseless and cool tricks they can try doing against bandits and thieves and stuff. And of course, how to make things go  _boom_.

“She’s a dwarf,” Sera says.

“ _Yup_ ,” Malika nods slowly, looking around for any signs of a possible prank.

None to be found.

“She’s smart,” Sera continues.

“I mean, yes, she has to be,” Malika says, “If she did all this and is - um. I guess the main person behind all Inquisition weapon and defense innovation, yes.”

“And she’s really clever,” Sera starts to drum her fingers on the table, “ _Really_  clever. And  _nice_  about being clever.”

“She is very nice,” Malika agrees. Dagna’s been teaching her some stuff, letting her look at her old journals and notes. Dagna says that Malika reminds her of  _her_  when she was younger, except Malika has a little bit more background in blackmail and manipulation than her. Understandably so. Malika  _is_  the heir to her mother’s slice of the Carta, after all. “She’s also a really great teacher.”

Dagna doesn’t actually like being called a teacher. It embarrasses her. She insists on just being called Dagna. Malika thinks she’s really swell.

Sera groans and runs her hands through her pale blonde hair, groaning and shaking her head at the same time.

“And  _you’re_  a dwarf and you’re smart and you’re really clever and nice _,”_ Sera says, giving Malika a very meaningful look.

“Thanks?” Malika blinks and then tries to sniff Sera discretely. She doesn’t smell like she’s had anything to drink. Sera just continues to give her the same very meaningful look. Malika just stares back. She’s not sure what Sera’s getting at here.

Sera then groans, head thumping loudly onto the table as she buries her head into her arms.

“Fuck me,” Sera says. “Malika, you’re both the same type of dwarf.”

“Okay?”

“Don’t make me say it. Ugh, you’re going to make me say it. Alright, here we go, feelings. You’re very important to me.”

Malika stares at Sera, who’s head is still in her arms, “Thank you, Sera. You’re really important to me, too.”

Sera sighs, “Malika.”

Malika thinks it over for a few moments and then sits up a little straighter, “Sera, you’re one of my best friends. Just because I’m hanging out with Dagna now doesn’t mean I’m not going to forget about you. Come on! Friends of Jenny! And regular friends, too!”

Sera looks up at her and hits the heel of her palm against the side of her head, “Andraste, you’re so  _nice_. No, that’s not what I was - I mean.  _You two would probably make a great item._ ”

Malika wrinkles her nose, “Ew, no thanks. She’s like - a really nice? And awesome? And stuff? But  _no thanks_. I don’t - relationships? Who’s got time?”

Sera just stares at her, incredulous.

“Wait, Sera - wait,” Malika says, her thoughts slowly crashing to a screeching stop, “Are  _you_  - ?”

Sera’s face immediately floods red.

“Paragons,” Malika gasps, eyes wide, “ _Sera. You like Dagna the Arcanist.”_


	77. Chapter 77

“It’s a trap,” Mahanon says, easily falling in step next to Evelyn as she surveys the outcropping of stones and ruins and dry, dry fields.

“It could  _not_  be a trap,” Evelyn replies, “It could be a genuine cry for help. That’s happened before.”

“No,” Herah says, slipping out of stealth and walking on Evelyn’s other side, “This is definitely, without a doubt, a trap.”

“That's a vote from two pessimists,” Evelyn says.

“Trap,” Cole whispers from directly behind her - as if the sound were the rustling of corn stalks at the nape of her neck, whispering over her scalp and then quickly darting into her ears. Evelyn jumps and Mahanon hisses like a fire doused in water. Herah freezes, her hands on her knives, before she lets out a loud and frustrated sigh.

“Cole!” She says, exasperated as Evelyn clutches her chest and gasps for breath.

Mahanon scowls furiously at the space behind them and then at Evelyn, “Cole agrees with us. Are you going to call  _him_  a pessimist, too?”

“No, now she’s going to say we need a tie breaker,” Herah says.

“It’s a trap,” Sera yells at them from some several yards off, “I swear to Andraste and the Maker and every single person in between us and them, this is a trap and if you make us go in I’m voting that the demon goes first.”

“He’s not a demon,” Herah says at the same time Cole murmurs, “If you want me to go first I can but it will still be a trap.”

Evelyn sighs, “I want the opinion of someone who isn’t a thief and a sneak because I’m starting to think that all thieves and sneaks and assassins and bards and the like are pessimists as a matter of their trade and study. Yes, Mahanon, I know.  _Dalish hunter_.”

“You want me to get Blackwall over here, then?” Herah asks, “Cassandra? Solas? Who’s word would you take to believe  _four separate people_  saying this is a trap?”

“Andraste herself, probably,” Sera calls out, “The Maker. I dunno, she’s stubborn.”

“If your Maker were to come down before us and declare before all the world that this is a trap,” Mahanon says, voice dry as the crumbling fire wasted grasslands around them, “She’d ask him for proof and then insist on checking herself, just in case.”

Evelyn flushes, “I’m just being certain. I don’t want to go in staves a blazing and knives drawn assuming it’s a trap when it really is a group of trapped refugees or soldiers and such.”

“I’m sure that they’d understand our wariness,” Herah says, “Considering all the demons and shit going around. Honestly, Evelyn. It’s a trap. There’s nothing wrong with hedging your bets.”

-

“I have an idea,” Malika says looking around the room at the rest of the people gathered with her, “It involves a moderate amount of alcohol, some candles - unlit, to begin with - , a seven yard rope - preferably not rough but tied off at both ends - , two straw dummies - we could use the ones Cassandra wrecked and haven’t replaced yet - , Ellana’s shadow puppet skills and voice mimicry, Bull’s ability to read lips, Blackwall being good at not moving from somewhere you tell him not to move, and a button - any color will do as long as it’s round.”

“That sounds like,” Maxwell starts and then trails off looking around the small gathering of their co-conspirators, “You know what? Given the resources we have and the time constraints we’re in? This is the best we’ve got. I don’t even need to hear what you need to do with what, I’m for it. Malika, you’re over ten years my junior, but I trust you with my life so I figure I can definitely trust you with this. I’m for it and really that’s all that counts because she’s my cousin and my vote is the most important.”

“No, wait a second. Wait.  _Wait_ ,” Sera says, “Malika, you’re my best friend but this sounds like a really shitty list of things you need. I call bullshit on this. I mean, for one thing - you’re going to trust Blackwall with this? Sure he won’t move from somewhere  _we_  tell him to, unless someone outranking us does. And really, this entire plan focuses on people who out rank us. He’ll fold faster than a house of cards on a sailboat in the Storm Coast.”

“That’s some colorful imagery there, Sera,” Varric says, “You sure you haven’t been reading  my latest serial? Because I’m pretty sure that’s my turn of phrase. Word for word as I describe the three way bluff between - “

Malika’s chair scrapes against the floor as she lunges forward, hands waving at Varric, “Don’t ruin it for me! Uncle Edric is still reading the copy we got and I haven’t gotten it to it yet!”

Varric gives Malika a baffled look, “You don’t have your own copy? Kid,  _I’m the author_. You could have ten copies if you wanted. On the house.”

“That sounds like a terrible way to do business,” Maxwell says, “Giving away your product for free by the batch.”

“Or maybe he’s not making money on it anyway,” Sera says. “Maybe he’s losing it having to keep all those books no one’s reading somewhere safe. Use it as kindling, Varric, more people’d look at it, then.”

“Alright, no free copies for you,” Varric says.

“It’s okay, Uncle Edric and I always share copies,” Malika says, “It’s homey. It’s how we break our books in and stuff. Anyway. Trust me guys. This plan will totally work.”

“Provided Blackwall doesn’t cave. And  Ellana can focus enough to do what you ask her to. And Bull doesn’t fuck us over and lie about what he’s reading. And a ton of other factors I bet you didn’t think about,” Sera says. “Maxwell might have complete and total faith in you, but since you’re my best friend I know how your mind works and I’m going to need  _exact_  details. So spill.”


	78. Chapter 78

"Do I want to know what's going on here?” Evelyn asks, slowly looking between Mahanon and Maxwell.

Maxwell shrugs his shoulders, otherwise lying perfectly still with his head on Mahanon’s leg and Mahanon’s long fingers slowly passing through his hair.

“Please don’t upset the status quo of this,” Maxwell says, “He might come to his normal senses and snap my neck. You’ll notice that my neck is in the utmost perfect position for snapping.”

“Yes, I can in fact see that,” Evelyn says, watching the motion of Mahanon’s fingers disappearing and reappearing as they slowly go through Maxwell’s hair, “Mahanon _. Mahanon?_ ”

Mahanon flicks Evelyn a faintly annoyed look, but his eyebrow ticks up in acknowledgement.

“Are you - are you two bonding?” Evelyn asks, “Should I leave?”

“No,” Mahanon says and turns back to staring outside the window towards the village center. It’s a nice village. No one’s tried to run them out or anything. No one’s even said anything unsavory about Mahanon or Solas.

“Is that a no, you’re not bonding, or a no, I shouldn’t leave?”

Mahanon slowly turns back towards her and says, “No, we are not bonding.  _No_ , you should not leave.”

Evelyn slowly sits down on the bed across from them. There’s three to a room, and although it’s a nice village, the sleeping quarters of the traveler’s inn are rather small and Evelyn is so close to them that if she just twitched her boot out a little it would knock against Mahanon’s.

“Do you want to talk about something?” She asks.

Mahanon’s mouth slowly turns downward, “Ask your cousin.”

Evelyn’s gaze lowers to Maxwell’s and he studiously continues staring at some point just past her.

“Maxwell.”

“I’m fine. Aside from the fact that Dalish Hunter-Assassin Mahanon has my head in his hands, I’m fine.”

Ah, Evelyn thinks, because she recognizes that particular delivery of the words  _I’m fine_  out of her cousins mouth.

“Sure you are,” Evelyn crosses her arms, giving Maxwell a look that she hopes conveys how much she isn’t buying this because it’s been literal decades since they were children but some things don’t change ever. “And I’m a Chantry Sister. What’s wrong? Do I have to get Mahanon to tell me?”

“Nothing, it’s  _nothing_ ,” Maxwell protests, “Look at me, I’m perfectly hale and well and aside from the fact that we all smell a little from being on the road there’s nothing wrong with - “

“He is feeling insecure and maudlin,” Mahanon says, “Without the assistance of drink, even.”

Mahanon turns his face down towards Maxwell and he scowls, “The worst you is the maudlin you, and the only reason why that beats out  _self righteous_  or  _self sacrificing_  you is because it’s so much harder to wring it out of you than the other two. All I have to do is knock you unconscious and drag you away from whatever cliff you want to throw yourself off of in some misguided feat of heroism.”

Mahanon sneers out the word heroism like it’s coated his mouth in something most foul and slimy.

“Oh, Max,” Evelyn sighs, because she can guess what set this particular spell off. Their window overlooks the village center. That’s where all the Inquisition volunteers are gathering. There are a lot of Templars - former and current - among them.

Apparently a lot of more peaceful and less violence-oriented Templars ended up in this village - it’s a good village for passing through, not so far from the main highways and out of the way of the fighting.

They make quite a sight, even with their armor so damaged and worn from the travel of running without support. They were impressive. The villagers had spoken well of them, too. They didn’t cause trouble, they kept to themselves and were respectful, and they ran off the more unsavory sort.

They had fought off demons.

“Max,” Evelyn says again and Maxwell turns his eyes to the ground.

-

“I’m dying,” Edric proclaims over supper.

“Do you have a copy of your will?” Malika asks, “Does mom have one? Does someone know what to do in the event of your death?”

“I was being hyperbolic,” Edric says.

“Well not necessarily, I think that we’re all dying at our own paces and really every moment is just one moment closer to that final close of a chapter in the world’s ongoing story.”

“I’m going to put a tentative ban on you sitting in on these Mage meetings, they’re putting too many ideas into your head and I’m not comfortable with how deep into the philosophical side of things you’re getting,” Edric says, frowning, “I’m glad you’re getting a deeper education and such, but I’d prefer it if they didn’t lead off into such peculiar matters.”

“Knowledge doesn’t go where you prefer it to go, it simply goes,” Malika says, serene and sanguine as she spears a bit of spiced potato. “Alright, Uncle Edric, why are you making grand statements of your impending death? Hey you know, these are really good. Kaaras made these right? Do you think he’ll teach me how? I really like them. Have you tried this? Sorry - sorry. Uh. Go ahead.”

“Did you know the Inquisitor was planning on sending me to inspect the Red Lyrium quarry?” He says. “Malika, I know nothing about rocks. I mean, I’m a dwarf and I guess I have to  know some things about rocks, but I mostly know how to fence shiny ones. Malika, the quarry is in the middle of the desert wasteland, why does she keep sending me to desert wastelands? Do you know how hard it is to get sand out of a beard?”

“Pretty hard I’m guessing.”

“Pretty damn hard. The Iron Bull knows more about rocks than I do. Varric told me that he had a lot of interesting comments to say about ancient Dwarven architecture which is weird because why does a Qunari know so much about ancient Dwarven architecture? I know nothing about ancient Dwarven architecture, Malika. Do you know anything about ancient Dwarven architecture?”

Malika takes a small sip of her beer and decides to just let him keep talking. She actually does know a little bit about ancient Dwarven architecture. She’s been talking to some people and Kaaras was able to help her find some books. She was curious about the statues on the Storm Coast.

“Anyway I’m just thinking about my impending death due to exposure. And you’re right, these are some damn good potatoes.”


	79. Chapter 79

“So is this the new you now?” Edric eyes Evelyn as she adjusts the tightness of her belt and tugs at her cloak to make sure everything is where it should be and not in danger of falling off her person and possibly causing some damage on the way down - it would be just her luck that a grenade of Antivan fire would slip loose or something.

“How do you mean?”

“Not caring, walking into certain danger, throwing all caution the wind, you know,” Edric gestures, “Just being a touch cavalier with your own life because I guess the rest of our companions wore you down and have beaten your internal sense of danger to death causing you to forget all attempts of self preservation?”

“You’ve become more fatalistic, Edric,” Evelyn says, “Edric, I have to say that I didn’t expect this from you. I suppose that it’s unfair of me to say that, but when we first met I thought,  _ah_ , this one will carry steady on what a relief to have someone with a proper head on his shoulders around to help guide us through these nonsensical times of completely outrageous feats of recklesness. I think it’s the mustache and beard, Edric, to be honest. It gives you a very steady look about you.”

“I am,” Edric says meeting her eyes, “Constantly on the verge of having my heart give out from overwork. All the time. Even when I’m asleep. Maybe especially when I’m asleep because the lack of conscious attention to what’s around me would probably just make my sleeping self more anxious.”

“You’ve also become more dramatic, but this I could reasonably expect because off the top of my head I’m going to give a solid guess of at least eight out of ten people we both know being prone to theatrics; it was only a matter of time that it wore off on us due to proximity,” Evelyn nods to herself. “In any case, I haven’t the faintest idea what you’re talking about, Edric. How do you mean I’ve become more - or I suppose less careful? I like to think I’m plenty careful, really.”

“Well to start, you’re looking to fight three dragons in a row. In blizzard conditions.”

“I promised Bull we’d do it today,” Evelyn says, “And I’ve been putting this off for way too long. He’d give me that look, you know. That look? The disappointed one where it’s like he’s trying not to be disappointed or at least to not let you know he’s disappointed but he is?”

“It’s a blizzard, I’m sure he’d understand.”

“And I also did promise the locals.”

“The only locals around are  _us_. Evelyn, the Inquisition is the only remaining living people here. The rest of them cleared out because  _there are three dragons here_.”

“Well they’ve got to come home eventually.”

“I figure that they’ve got new homes and they don’t want to come back to prime dragon hunting grounds.”

“Well now it sounds like you’re making excuses not to help people, Edric.”

“And it sounds like  _you’re_  making excuses to  _fight three dragons in a blizzard_.”

-

“Would I make a good blacksmith?” Malika says and Herah blinks, looking down at her.

“A what?”

“A blacksmith? You know? Hammer and tongs? Hot metal? Lots of fire. Leather apron and gloves. Buckets of water. Loud noises. Makes weapons and armor.”

“Do you…want to be a blacksmith?” Herah asks carefully. She didn’t know Malika had it in for crafting. Herah had always supposed Malika would travel and maybe become some sort of - well. Dignitary? Person who talks? Trader? Not necessarily a Carta trader, but surely someone who goes about and negotiates and things of that nature.

She supposes Malika would make a good blacksmith. Malika’s not especially patient, but that’s something that develops with time and experience. Herah certainly knows that for herself and Kaaras. And Malika’s surrounded in blacksmiths and all sorts of crafters who could teach her. It wouldn’t be too hard for her to find apprenticeship - especially if she asked Evelyn or one of their other more notable friends to put in a word for her and help with sponsorship.

“Maybe? I don’t know, I was just thinking that maybe I should have a fall back plan,” Malika says, “You know. In case I don’t turn out to be good at fighting or Carta-stuff.”

“So you decided blacksmith as a follow up?”

“Well. It’s on the table, I guess. I don’t know. What would I be good at? I don’t even know what other professions there are. I mean. Crafts. Trade. Muscle. I don’t think I could be a scholar because most scholars have at least some sort of money or history with a Circle.”

Very true.

“If you wanted to be a scholar I’m sure you could find a sponsor to send you to a college,” Herah says. “The same if you wanted some sort of apprenticeship. You’ve got plenty of prospects, Malika. But I’m very curious as to why you think you wouldn’t be good at fighting or Carta stuff. Both are things you’ve been raised with and from what I can tell your family has a very high opinion of you and your future if you choose to pursue that path.”

“But they’re my family, they’re stuck having a high opinion of me.”

Herah’s eyebrows raise, “Have you told that to Maxwell yet? Or Dorian?”

“That’s different,” Malika says, “They’re nobles.”

“Nobles are a different breed, I suppose,” Herah replies, “Well. As someone who’s fought alongside you and has also had the joy of watching you work a room, I can tell you it’s not just your family looking at things with their family bias. You’re young so there are mistakes and flaws, but that resolves itself. And you’re a little sheltered, but that also fixes itself in time. So I can’t say you’re the most amazing fighter or negotiator I’ve ever seen in my life, but I can say that you aren’t untalented and that you aren’t bad at either. If you want to pursue another career, Malika, by all means do. But I want you to know that you’re already doing well at what you’re doing.”


	80. Chapter 80

There’s a very calm sort of resignation to Mahanon’s face. Herah is deeply concerned for Maxwell’s welfare as a result.

“He carried me, you say.” Mahanon says. His lips barely move, but his voice is frighteningly clear and horrifically calm considering that he looks like he’s planning the quickest and most efficient assassination seen in this age.

“Like a princess! Or a bride!” Malika says.

Herah swiftly smacks the back of her head.

“Or - uh. A corpse?”

Mahanon’s mouth is a perfectly straight line.

“But on the bright side! You saved Pebbles! It was very impressive. I mean, no one saw you do it because no one ever sees you do  _anything_.”

“Rephrase that.” Hirra doesn’t think Mahanon would resort to  losing his temper at Malika, but he’s also had a very long and trying day that did end up with him  _falling off a cliff_. Anyone would be out of patience, she thinks. And Malika really isn’t the sort of person that you can just handle without any patience.

“You’re very good at making your hard work be invisible and seem effortless?”

“Better.”

“And Pebble really appreciates it.”

“You,” Mahanon says very slowly, like he’s trying very hard to be civil, “Should never have gotten a dog.”

“Maxwell has Charlemagne,” Malika says with a small pout. “I can handle a puppy.”

“The horse is dead and has nothing to fear. I don’t think the horse even has feelings,” Mahanon answers. Herah has to concede that the man has a point.

“I’m just going to gently remind you that Maxwell  _did save your life_  and you need to take that into consideration over any possible humiliation you’re feeling over the fact that Maxwell saved your life.”

“I am aware of that, Adaar,  _thank you_ ,” Mahanon says and then closes his eyes, bringing his hand up to his face and pinching the bridge of his nose. “I am very keenly aware of that.”

“And?”

“Do I have to extradite Maxwell out of the country? And  _what_ , Mahanon, should I expect strange retaliation from you? Can I tell Maxwell to stop drafting his will?”

“To be fair, I think all of us should be working on a will. I mean, our occupations in a general sense seem to call for it. I mean, Mahanon almost died saving my puppy today.”

“Malika.”

“Sorry.” Malika scuffs her boot, “ _’S true though._ ”

Mahanon lets out a slow sigh and then folds his hands together in front of his face, “Maxwell Trevelyan cannot die.”

“What?” Herah blinks.

“Um? Yeah? He can? He’s really good at getting real close,” Malika says.

Mahanon shakes his head. “I owe him a debt. A  _life debt_. Maxwell Trevelyan  _cannot die_.”

Mahanon sneers, lips pulling up as he narrows his eyes, “This is going to work me to death, but I owe him a  _life debt_  now and it must be repaid.”

“So - you aren’t going to kill or otherwise harm him?”

“No,” Mahanon answers.

“Golly, you don’t have to sound so excited about it,” Herah rolls her eyes, “You damn dramatic. Malika go tell Maxwell that things are alright and that he’s about to be very closely monitored by Mahanon Lavellan for the next - how long?”

“Until this debt is repaid.”

“By?”

“Me saving his life.”

“Oh, so not very long then.”

“ _Genuine and unavoidable peril_.”

“Well shit then, tell Maxwell that he’s got a new shadow and that the shadow’s probably going to drive him to an early grave.”

“Yes’m.”

-

“Is that a dog?”

“Yes,” Cullen says, fondly rubbing the gray mabari’s ears, “I think someone left her here. And I have my suspicions that by the end of this - “ Cullen gestures around them, the slightest curl of displeasure in his mouth and his voice. Evelyn feels a small burst of relief in her chest, like a small flower, that he doesn’t say anything more. They’ve had their rows about this and it’s worn them both down more than the matter really has any right to.  - “She’ll be coming home with the Inquisition.”

“And what is that based on, pray tell?” Evelyn holds out her hand, and the dog’s ears perk up, happily trotting over to sniff at her hands and her legs and to bump her wide snout against her for pets. Evelyn crouches down and allows herself to be slathered in dog-kisses. It is slightly more appropriate and less-gossip worthy than allowing herself to be kissed by the man she loves. Also - no offense to Cullen - it’s somehow infinitely more soothing.

“Well. Six people so far have come by to give her treats,” Cullen says. “Ellana of course has come by  _thric_ ealready and on one occasion just lay down the floor to lay her hands on top of the dog’s paws and laugh. Edric’s been around twice to just sit with her. Malika and Pebbles circle around pretty often to play with her while they’re exploring and running messages. Kaaras was here while he was waiting for Mahanon so they could find Dorian.”

“Did they?”

“Possibly, the two went off some time ago and between Kaaras’ common sense and Mahanon’s sense of direction I think they have pretty good chances.”

“Especially when you factor in Dorian’s senes of dramatic timing.”

Cullen laughs, nodding and the dog’s ears flick back towards him. She turns her head, stumpy tail wagging as she smiles up at him and Cullen holds out his hands. The dog bounds over - not caring that there isn’t really much cause for  _bounding_  when he’s probably only four or five paces away - and starts to enthusiastically jump up at him.

“I think she likes it when you laugh,” Evelyn says. Cullen laughs some more and the dog goes absolutely crazy for it. Evelyn wonders, as the dog tries to lick at Cullen’s face, if that somehow counts as an indirect kiss.

“She wouldn’t be the only one, I think,” Cullen says, his smile gentle and Evelyn holds out her hand to him.

One arm on the dog, Cullen reaches out to her.

“ _Inquisitor!_ ” They both startle and Evelyn turns to see a page running towards her. “Inquisitor! Madame de Fer has been looking for you. Please, come.”

Evelyn glances at Cullen,  _I’m sorry_  on her lips but Cullen shakes his head, drawing his hand back to pet the dog some more.

“Go,” Cullen says, “I’ll be here.”

The dog gives a loud and deep bark, putting her all into trying to jump up into Cullen’s arms and he shakes his head.

“It looks like I don’t get a choice in that.”

 _I’m sorry_ , Evelyn still wants to say. But Cullen is kind and he is giving her an out. She wishes she didn’t have to take it. But she does.

“I’ll be back for more about the dog,” Evelyn says, turning and heading towards the page.


	81. Chapter 81

“Is this what you feel like, Ellana?” Evelyn says. Her skin is covered in gooseflesh and the dawn over the sprawling forests around Halamshiral makes her want to put her fist through teeth. She’s not quite sure who’s to start with, just yet. Her skin is tight and cold but inside is so hot it feels dry, cracked, and barren. Evelyn  _feels_  every bit of destruction and death she’s ever been told that she is.

Evelyn, for the first time,  _craves it_.

“How do you mean?” Ellana asks, a wavering almost-illusion of the dawn and the morning mist next to her. Ellana’s clothes glitter with dew and light.

How strange, Evelyn thinks. That Ellana, for once, is the one put together and the one who looks respectable and civilized with her braids and her beads, the glitter of her armor and the feathers and the embroidery of her Keeper’s robes. And here’s Evelyn in a light dressing gown with one sleeve moving strangely with lank hair and brittle lips and an ache so deep it runs out of sensations before it runs out of depth. How strange that Ellana has the words and Evelyn does not.

She wonders if this is how Mahanon feels in reverse.

 _She was always the one who had the words to say what I cannot_ , Mahanon had told her before, repeatedly whenever he was frustrated at having to convert Ellana’s inability to speak in a language anyone could understand.  _I never bothered to try before. I always thought it would be her._

“It is part of me, and now it’s gone, but I feel like if I just closed my eyes and  _pulled_ ,  _wanted_ , it could be here again,” Evelyn says. “The Anchor. Not the hand. That’s even stranger, isn’t it? Stranger than all of this.”

“No,” Ellana says. “After all, I am not a bear. But it doesn’t stop me from thinking that I’m not tall enough and that the ground is much too close.”

Evelyn swallows and it doesn’t help her dry mouth, her dry throat.

She should probably be lying down, still.

She definitely should be lying down, still.

“I,” Evelyn says to the sun, to Ellana, to the forests, to this stupid fucking gilded palace where nothing good has ever happened in the history of their races, “Am tired.”

Ellana says nothing. She just slowly climbs onto the stone railing to sit, legs swinging a little as she watches the sunrise. Evelyn leans heavily on the white stone rails. Yes, she should definitely be at least sitting down.

“I am tired. I know I’m not done.”

Evelyn can’t be done. Solas practically laid out his vision for the world and it involves the deaths of literal thousands of people to wash away the mistakes he made hundreds if not  _thousands_  of years ago. As if the blood of today could somehow restore the bones of yesterday. As if the suffering of now could transition into a tomorrow that disappeared from time.

As if forgiveness could be given.

Evelyn closes her eyes, the sun a light on the back of her eyelids, visible and  _present_. Undeniable.

“No,” Ellana says, “You will never be done.”

“I want to stop,” Evelyn says.

She wants to stop. She wants to leave titles and formality behind. She wants to build a home that isn’t walked through and criticized and picked apart minute by minute by strangers who’s opinions may or may not have an actual impact on her future. She wants to build a life where she can choose to cut people out, where she can make choices based on  _I want_  and  _I need_  instead of  _who needs more_  and  _who needs now_.

Evelyn wants a life where she chooses for herself instead of for nations.

She wants Cullen in this life. Cullen with his hands - as Cole would say - meant for softer things that swords. Spades and garden hoes, axes and hammers. Horses, cows, sheep.

Children.

She wants Maxwell to be in this life too. She wants the years she lost in the Circle, she wants to sit with him and talk through almost twenty years of letters.  _Did your mother really say that when your tutor told her that? Uncle Eglerbert absolutely did not send Lady Matilde that book, he absolutely could not have, he knows how much she loathes all forms of sonnet. That girl shouldn’t have left you, Maxwell, she doesn’t know what kind of man she’s leaving behind. You are worth every single drop of blood and gold the house of Trevelyan has to offer, Maxwell. I’d trade it all for one of you_.

She wants Mahanon in this life, flicker and skulking about the edges of farmland and hearth fires as he comes in and out of his wanderings, messages from Kaaras and Dorian carried with him. Maybe even Kaaras and Dorian themselves.

She wants Malika to come into this life with her. And Edric. And Herah and Josephine, though no doubt the two will go so far and so wide that the time they’re in the same country will be eclipsed by the time they’re at sea or on the road.

She wants Ellana and the Iron Bull and his Chargers in this life, a rowdy lot that comes up to her door with stories of grand adventure and strange exaggerated tales.

She wants Cole to walk among cornstalks and to learn the names of the flowers he picks and to watch food grow from seed in real time.

She wants to write letters to Varric and ask him to autograph his books for her.

She wants to marvel at Sera’s deeds and Sera’s and Dagna’s combined genius as they create marvel after marvel after marvel.

She wants them all - Harding, Sera, Blackwall, Sutherland, Cassandra, Leliana, Vivienne. She wants them all to be woven into her life without their interactions being the thing that holds together all of Thedas. She wants them to be with each other without the pressure of holding up the world keeping them from taking space and time apart.

And before this, before this she had even wanted Solas as part of this life, too.

And all of that - all of this - slips away from her one hand that isn’t strong enough to hold it.

Evelyn had been so close.

“I hate him,” Evelyn says. She thinks that she had been trying to find excuses all this time. All this time until just now as the dawn rises. A reason. No matter how small or illogical. Something.

“Good,” Ellana says.

Evelyn turns to her.

Ellana, too, has just lost a world. Ellana runs her fingers over the back of her hand, tracing the lines of her vallaslin.

“Hate is a good place to start,” Ellana says. “You can work your way to many places from hate. Hold onto that feeling, Evelyn. It is yours. It is just. It is something that no one can take from you.”

Ellana’s eyes are dark, liquid, and entirely animal when she turns to meet Evelyn’s gaze. “Do what you can. Do what you must. Endure because the only other option is surrender. Feel tired, Evelyn Trevelyan, but do not ever feel  _helpless_.”


	82. Chapter 82

“I’m too old to start again,” Varric groans as soon as he sees the elf striding up to him, eyes narrowed against the light glinting off of the snow and the ice. “Do you know how many years Daisy took off of me?  _Years_?”

“I assume that by Daisy you do not mean the common flower but Sabrae,” Lavellan says, pale eyebrows raising, “And am I not following your advice as I said I would? If I am killed for this, know that I will be extremely cross but also slightly vindicated as it happens. And I would take at least two down with me.”

“Maybe,” Varric says, waving the man aside  and rushing them out towards the sparse treelike before someone hears him talking and decides that he’s too much trouble to actually listen to, “Maybe consider not saying those kinds of things out loud. Around people with swords. And more authority than you. Take it from someone who is used to that kind of situation.”

“Why?” Lavellan tilts his head, “Because it is disconcerting to hear?”

“Yes.”

Lavellan slowly blinks at him, “Tethras, that is exactly why I say it.”

“Good to know that all elves have the self preservation skills of nugs.”

“Nugs have lasted this long, no? Who do I speak to, Varric Tethras? Who here has the authority to say that I am obviously not the one responsible for this? I request that you take me to them.”

Varric cringes, “Right. About that. Well. You see, that person doesn’t exactly have good feelings about me. In fact, me bringing you to them would probably get you behind bars just because we shared the same air for a while.”

Lavellan’s eyes narrow. “Explain that.”

“It’s a very long story.”

“Condense it.”

“Petty feelings of unfounded betrayal.”

Lavellan frowns, “What do I have to do, exactly, to make it clear that I have done nothing to warrant being killed on sight?”

“Probably not be seen talking to me.”

“Who else in this camp full of Andrastian humans  _would I talk to_?” Lavellan gestures. “These people hunt  _my_  people for  _sport_  and tell their children that we eat babies. Everyone knows that there’s no point in eating juvenile animals because it’s a waste of resources and bad animal husbandry unless you’re culling a population. That and it’s much, much more likely for the parents of the child to cannibalize in times of necessity.”

“Again, you should probably hold back on saying some of those things out loud. Around the people with swords. The Andrastian humans who  _hunt your people for sport_.”

Lavellan scowls, “Do they not like the truth when it it is presented plainly?”

“Not usually,” Varric shrugs, “That’s what people like me are for. Anyway. Here’s what we’re going to do. I’m going back in there and I’m going to find Solas - he’s also an elf and he’s  - “

There’s a loud and almost deafening  _crackling_  boom in the direction of the Breach, followed by a flash of green that Varric almost thinks he imagined. But Lavellan’s eyes widen and his head snaps towards the direction of the ruined Temple of Sacred Ashes.

There’s a sound of horns — alarms.

“Well, shit,” Varric says, “I guess you’re good. I mean. You aren’t there obviously, so it can’t be you.”

-

“You were meant to be watching the boy!” Krem exclaims as he gapes at the scene in front of them.

Grim shrugs and continues mopping up a mess of flour, dough, possibly fruit, gravy, maybe someone’s sick, and ale. It is the floor of the Herald’s Rest so three of those things are usually there anyway.

Flyssa’s stern eye turns somewhat bemused, “To be fair to Grim, he is a hard boy to keep track of.”

“I don’t see how the boy being unusual and peculiar leads to this within an instant,” Krem says, “Do I want to know? Maker - sorry, miss, for the trouble. Andraste’s flaming sword. At least no one got hurt.”

Krem turns and holds up a finger at Rocky, “You? You don’t count. You brought this down on your own damn self.”

After a moment’s thought, he changes the finger he’s holding up.

“Fuck you too, Aclassi. Pardon the language, miss.”

“I’ve heard worse from your mouth,” Flyssa says, “Grim, careful. You are about to step into something, dear.”

Grim makes an appreciative sounding  _mm_  and carefully reorients himself to continue cleaning.

“Where’s the boy now?”

Everyone points up and Krem sighs.

“Don’t worry, Evelyn got here first,” Rocky says. “She’s already gone up to talk to him. I figure that Evelyn’s good at this kind of thing. She was a teacher in the Circle, or something like. She’ll get it across to him in a ways he can figure without getting too tangled up about it.”

-

“I just want my cut,” Mahanon says, “Before Dorian finds out I’m here and that I won a bet based on him losing. Hurry and count out my coins, Trevelyan.”

“But we never spend time together, anymore, Mahanon. You’ve become ever so popular among the spymaster’s ranks that you’re always too busy for me,” Maxwell says. “I miss it when we went on adventures together.”

“Are you, by any chance, referring to when I had to take you hunting because we were all starving in the middle of the mountains without a supply chain?” Mahanon says slowly as Maxwell sorts out coins.

“You make it sounds incredibly dull,” Maxwell says.

“That was not  _adventure_ , that was a job we had to do and for whatever reason we ended up stuck doing it together,” Mahanon says. “Possibly because they thought my skill would be able to overcome your inability to do anything involving stealth.”

“That’s very hurtful, after all, I’m the one who holds all the betting information because I am just that good at hiding gossip.”

“That’s because you have the same face the fancy humans have,” Mahanon says, “The default face that I want to push into a latrine just to see what would happen. Your face gets stuck in an endless loop of polite interest and subtle agreement. It would be infuriating if it wasn’t so  _banal_.”


	83. Chapter 83

“Kid, if your mother is as terrifying as your uncle constantly says and screams and raves that she is, she’s going to absolutely and completely and thoroughly destroy me when she finds out I woke you up to a whole new world of pain,” Bull says as he hands Malika a strip of leather. “I’d give you something strong, but I don’t have anything. I lost a bet with Skinner.”

“You’d think,” Krem says as he holds up the torch over Malika, “He’d have damn well learned not to bet against Skinner by now. You know what they say about old dogs and new tricks, though.”

“If it makes you feel better,” Malika says, skin shining with sweat and underneath that paler than bleached bone, “I’m pretty sure I was already in that whole new world of pain when you got to me.”

Bull and Krem exchange solemn looks over Malika. Krem grasps her hand and Bull gently guides the strip of leather between her teeth.

“This,” Bull says as he carefully adjusts her bleeding leg to get Krem’s belt underneath it, “Is going to really, really, really hurt, kid.”

“More than  _getting ax’ed in the leg?_ ” Malika asks, incredulous. Krem just squeezes her hand.

“On three,” Krem says.

“I’m not falling for that, you say that but then you go on - “ Malika’s teeth clamp down hard on the leather and she screams, eyes shutting as Bull quickly sets the bone and ties the tourniquet.

Krem’s mouth tightens down and his lips press together in a fine line as Malika squeezes his hand.

It’s over and done within moments. Breaths. The spaces between.

But the pain lingers in the air, like the taste of sweat.

Malika sucks rattling, uneasy breaths. “Oh wow. That.  _Sucked_.”

“Good news is that they didn’t hit anything vital,” Bull says, “Bad news is that we’ve got to move you and get you to a real healer because this is about as effective as trying to kiss it better.”

“Cute.” Malika swallows, and slowly releases Krem’s hand. Her face pains of further color, “I have to move.”

“The hard part is to keep moving,” Krem says, “But you’re damn good at that already.”

“And here I thought the hard part was getting chopped up by an axe,” Malika says, blinking tears away as she focuses on evening out her breathing. “Uncle Edric isn’t ever going to let me even  _breathe_  out of direct line of sight ever again.”

“I can think of a list of people who aren’t letting you out of sigh ever again,” Bull says.

“He’s one of them,” Krem says immediately. “Come on, girl, let’s get you to someone with a healing skill or two. Or at the very least a good shot of whiskey.”

“For me or the leg?”

“For me, for you, the leg, the Chief, my war hammer, this torch,  _everyone_.”

-

“What was she like before this?” Malika asks and Mahanon glances down at her, surprise flickering over his face. “I mean. She wasn’t always like this. Because sometimes she does things like - like  _that_.”

Malika points to where Ellana is pointing out the constellations with a calm and steady, practiced hand and eye to Cole and Dorian as they cluster close to the astrarium. Solas leans against his staff next to her, nodding and adding in verbal commentary for her.

Dorian speaks up every so often to say  _oh, that’s this in Tevinter_  or  _if you switch the constellation to include this star it becomes…_

“And sometimes she’ll fix Vivienne’s potion or erase something in Kaaras’ equation and make it  _better_. And that’s book learning and practice and experience. She wasn’t always like… like how she is a lot of the time. Not that there’s anything wrong with her, I mean. It’s just - there’s a difference.”

It’s like Ellana is this cloud, gentle looking and sort of ambiguously shaped. Distinct enough to discern from the sky, obviously. But the shape changes and isn’t ever really the same.

But sometimes. Sometimes if you catch the cloud at just the right moment you see a flash of something inside of it, lightning. And it transforms the cloud in your eyes for a swift moment into something solid and deep and containing a multitude of secrets.

Like that Ellana Lavellan, flower crown maker and bird chaser and cat meowing expert, is far superior at mathematics than even Dorian Pavus, bender of time and genius extraordinaire.

Mahanon watches her, and his face is lit pale and ghostly like the moon. A third moon that Malika has to turn up to see.

She’s struck with a sudden thought, a realization: Mahanon is the only person here that knows anything about Ellana Lavellan.

She is  _his_  secret.

And maybe he might not want to share it.

Just as Malika’s confidence is about to waver Mahanon turns away from her and says, “She could look at you and see a problem that you didn’t realize was there. All she would have to do was look at you. Even when we were children. Even before her magic made itself known to our clan. We all knew that she would be some sort of elder for us, if she did not marry out. Perhaps a minder of the young, or maybe even one of our trackers - for her insight.”

Mahanon crosses his arms, eyes focused ahead and into the darkness, towards the astrarium and their friends.

“And she has always had a touch of the eccentric in her,” Mahanon continues, “Sometimes others would wonder, despair really, that it would seem she would insist on doing things the hard way, taking the long way about, like she was setting herself up to do it the most difficult way possible.”

“You didn’t,” Malika says.

“No, because for her entire life I have watched her and I am not quite the fool she would like to suggest I am,” Mahanon says, voice dry but pleased, “It was always to the surprise of others that what they thought was her being difficult was her finding a shorter, simpler, and all around much more practical path. My sister is not the sort of person to waste her time or efforts. There is nothing she does that is without purpose or use. It simply depends on what kind of use and purpose she seeks out.”

Mahanon pauses, she hears him hesitate before he says softly, “But she was demanding. And harsh. And easily disappointed in others. Perhaps it is because we were so young, or sheltered - for the sort of lives we have led - but she could not stand what she perceived to be faults in others. And she would see them. And she would know them. And she would make it hurt. She is not like that now. And for that I am glad. She seems happier.”

Malika watches his mouth soften, unsure.

“She is happy,” Malika says and he slowly tilts his head towards her, but does not turn to her. “Mahanon. Are you happy?”

“Perhaps,” Mahanon replies, “Or perhaps - at this moment - I am just not afraid. Who’s to know?”


	84. Chapter 84

"For some reason, I find you deeply attractive,” Mahanon admits, looking incredibly pained about saying it.

“Well, you don’t have to sound so miserable about it,” Maxwell thinks, well, at least someone likes him.

“What I am trying to tell you, Trevelyan, is that you aren’t entirely hopeless and that you should at least make an attempt at letting your relationship with Pentaghast get further than  _good morning_  and pining,” Mahanon says and then examines the bottle of wine, squinting as he turns the bottle. And then he thrusts it at Maxwell. “I can’t read Orlesian.”

“It isn’t Orlesian, it’s Antivan,” Maxwell says, “Old Antivan. I can’t read it either. Mahanon, did my cousin send you to me with a bottle of wine so you could get drunk enough to comfort me about the fact that Cassandra is probably leaving and redeeming the Seekers of Truth and such and I’ll most likely never see her again?”

Mahanon turns his squint onto Maxwell, “No, your cousin is finally getting around to the process of making children with her Commander. Herah sent me because she’s taken Josephine to bed. Malika lacks the requisite tact and sense of decorum for this conversation. Edric could not be persuaded. Ellana would just let you proceed with things as they are.”

Mahanon scowls and pours some more wine, “And  _my_  paramours have  _left me here with the rest of you to die_.”

“Wine makes you chatty,” Maxwell says. Outside of his gloom he finds he’s a little entertained by this little tid-bit fact about Mahanon Lavellan, solemn and biting Hunter of the Dales and assassin of the Inquisition. “Please continue.”

“Well if you  _insist,”_ Mahanon says, completely ignoring Maxwell’s increased interest and the obvious blackmail that will come from this, “Though I do not understand why you are so keen to listen to me when you  _never listen to me_. In fact, no one ever listens to me and it has been that way since I was three and my sister was born and I absolutely can trace every single terrible thing in my life back down to holding that squalling bloody mess of a baby in my arms. Did you know she had no hair? At all? She looked like a nug. A screaming, red nug. Disgusting.”

“She’s come very far from screaming red nug,” Maxwell says. “She’s very handsome.”

Mahanon turns his narrowed eyes at Maxwell, “Never tell her that, she’d get a big ego and then what would I do? Die?”

“Very fatalistic of you. So you’re here to be morose with me because both of us are without?”

And then Maxwell feels a pang of bitter envy. At least Mahanon’s lovers  _were his lovers_.

Maxwell has an unsteady unrequited crush. Or at least - mostly unrequited.

Cassandra has made it quite clear that she isn’t sure on what she wants from him. Friendship certainly, and he can do that. Has been.

Maxwell is quite used to knowing there is something he cannot have and making do with what he does.

Friendship with Cassandra Pentaghast is something he wants, a relationship is something he wants. But he does not need to be romantically involved with her and not being romantically involved with her is perfectly fine.

He can just be a little sad about it, here and there. Or does that make him a prat? Is he a prat? Maker, he hopes he isn’t a prat. She’d tell him if he was being a prat and hurting her wouldn’t she?  _Wouldn’t she_?

Should he just not be friends with her? Would that make things easier for her?

But the thought of not being her friend feels even worse and makes Maxwell want to cry a little. A lot.

How does he stay friends with Cassandra? He desperately wants that. He doesn’t want to mess this up like he’s messed up everything in his life. Granted he’s come this far without dying so he can’t have messed things up too badly, but still. Even Maxwell has to admit that if one’s measure of  _not doing badly_  is  _not being dead_  there is something a little pathetic going on.

“Pentaghast,” Mahanon pronounces her name carefully, “Has a point about your age.”

“Are you here to comfort me or rub it in more, Mahanon?”

“Quiet. I’m thinking. Words,” Mahanon grimaces, “The wine is not helping. Or it is. Whichever. When I found out how old Kaaras was my first instinct was to run and Kaaras had to literally catch me. There is something very, very nerve wracking about a younger lover. A much younger lover. Responsibility. Insecurity.  _Things_.”

Mahanon packs a great deal of emotion behind the word  _things_  that seems to convey both disgust at feeling emotions in general, deep regret, shame, and sadness.

Maxwell nods slowly.

“The fact that you will probably die and leave them alone for a long time,” Mahanon continues, “The judgment of your peers. Especially considering that you are the younger and a not un-handsome man. These are all very difficult things to handle.”

Mahanon pauses, “Especially when one is the older one in the relationship and must carefully consider the welfare of their partner. Pentaghast loves you and it is because she loves you that she wants to give you time to change your mind. Ludicrous. You don’t have much mind to change.”

“One of the things I appreciate about you, Mahanon, is that even when you are trying to help me feel better you are also trying to make sure that my ego remains perfectly level,” Maxwell says. “And of course I know all of those things. But I don’t want to confess to her again and ruin our friendship or pressure her into anything.”

“So you’re going to watch her leave you and get drunk and miserable instead of doing anything about it? That’s incredibly out of character for you Maxwell, considering that the entire Inquisition as a collective whole had to work together to stop you from taking lyrium because you felt like you were powerless and helpless.”

“Well, when you put it like  _that_ , Mahanon…”


	85. Chapter 85

“That,” Mahanon says softly as Evelyn tries to hold her breath. She can’t hold her breath forever, she would die, but the alternative is breathing and she would still feel like she’s dying. “ _That_ ,” Mahanon repeats as though drawing strength through repetition, “ _Is not a horse_.”

“It was once, maybe,” Evelyn says, giving up and just breathing through her mouth. It doesn’t help. “It’s just…a very old horse.”

Mahanon turns and looks her dead in the eyes, “You said you needed help with a horse. You  _said you needed help assessing the health of a horse_. That’s not a horse, Trevelyan. I would go so far as to say that it doesn’t need any assessment of its health because  _it is clearly dead_. What you need is a mage strong enough to exorcise whatever…sorcery is keeping it alive so it can finally rest in peace and we can burn the body. And whatever else it’s touched to get rid of the smell. The smoke would be preferable.”

“Charlie doesn’t smell that bad,” Maxwell says from inside the stable they had built  _far, far, far_ away from Haven’s main grounds. “You’re going to hurt his feelings.”

“Charlie,” Mahanon repeats, still looking at Evelyn.

“Short for Charlemagne,” Evelyn supplies. “Maxwell named him.”

“I can tell,” Mahanon says, “Is Charlemagne, by any chance, Maxwell’s steed.”

“Yes.”

“And why would I care about the health of Maxwell’s steed? Especially given that its health is…at this point inconsequential as it is deceased?”

“Because you’re my friend and you care about what I care about.”

Mahanon rolls his eyes skyward, “This friendship is unbalanced and I regret it deeply.”

“Dennet won’t help,” Evelyn says, “Please?”

“Of cours Dennet won’t help, he has the ability to reason soundly. There’s nothing here to asses. It’s a dead horse. It’s  _dead_.”

“Can you just - check if things are generally where they ought to be?”

Mahanon raises a single eyebrow, “It’s got a sword through its skull. I’ll wager that isn’t where it  ought to be. Also the horse ought to be on a pyre or in the ground.”

“Mahanon.”

“What do you want me to do? Tell you the horse is dead? I didn’t even look at it for very long and I can tell you that it’s got a sword through its head, a lot of rotted flesh sagging in ways that suggest the internal organs are definitely  _not_  where they should be and probably  _not_  looking the way they should. Also it has  _no eyes_ , just maggots. It’s a dead horse.”

“Can you at least tell me if the thing looks stable to…well. Mount? For general use? Combat? Even just manual labor?”

Mahanon frowns hard and then goes back over the stable, pulling his scarf over his face as he yanks the door open, staring into it for a few moments before firmly closing the door and striding back to her.

“One, I don’t understand how your cousin can stand to be in closed quarters with that thing,” Mahanon says, “Two. It’s not of a draft breed so I wouldn’t suggest hitching it up to anything especially heavy. For all we know it could rip its own decaying limbs off. Three - probably a combat horse based on the size and possible shape it had before it started decay. Doesn’t look like a horse meant for speed or endurance runs. Looks more steady. Based on the legs I’d say you’re fine for mounted combat. I’d have to see it through some paces to make sure but nothing is certain because it’s a dead horse.”

“Thank you, Mahanon,” Evelyn says, squeezing his shoulder.

“You owe me.” Mahanon shrugs her off and starts his way back towards Haven, “Ugh. That smell. Disgusting.”

-

“That is decidedly not for you,” Herah says, quickly taking the sword out of Malika’s hands and putting it back on the table. Evelyn, for the most part, is an excellent decision maker.

She’s very steady, rational, calm, is good at managing logistics, and overall is capable of a strong degree of empathy and sympathy. Herah supposes part of this is innate, part of it has been nurtured in her through her general upbringing, and a lot of it is trained out of her experiences. Herah doesn’t envy Evelyn her position of command and leadership because frankly, at this point, Herah would’ve told at least ten probably vitally important to the Inquisition people to fuck themselves. In more crass terms.

Evelyn manages even the most damn irritating people with all the politeness you’d expect of an heiress.

But Evelyn’s had her…mistakes.

One of them, Herah thinks, is letting Malika go to the Black Emporium.

“Why not? My gold is as good as anyone else’s,” Malika says, reaching for a morning-star that’s probably cursed. Herah gives Malika a firm push away from the weapons table.

“Yes it is, but that’s not the point,” Herah says, glaring at Evelyn’s back as the woman looks through rare ingredients. “You’re to young to be bound to cursed objects. Give it a few years.”

“But I see it  _now_ ,” Malika whines, “If I’m old enough to fight in an army aren’t I old enough to look at really cool equipment?”

“Look, but don’t touch,” Herah says. “Trevelyan, are we done here?”

“Almost,” Evelyn says and then turns, blinking and looking around, “Wait. Where’s Ellana and Cole?”

Herah and Malika look around. Last they saw the two were enamored with a very small bear that they were following around the Emporium.

“Ah, if you are looking for your elf friend and the straw boy they’ve gone off into my archives after Chauncey. I think they’ve gone to look after the invisible nugs, one can never be certain. By which I mean, I’m sure that they’ll encounter at least  _one_  invisible nug, but it isn’t certain because one wouldn’t know if one had encountered an invisible nug as there is no real way of confirming it.”

“Herah.”

“I’m on it. Which direction is the archives, ser?”

“Somewhere I can’t see it, as I have been unable to move m head in two centuries,” Xenon says. “Or my eyes.”


	86. Chapter 86

“You’re over thinking,” Solas says, watching as Malika pulls down books from the library shelves, looking slightly crazed. “Pick a name, I doubt your dog actually cares. With conditioning she will respond to anything you call her.”

“But it’s got to be a name that suits her. You know how people match their names? What if I name her something not so good? Like, what if I name her something like - I don’t know, Spot? And what if Spot is a good name for most dogs but those most dogs also have weird habits like farting whenever their name is called? What would I do then? I mean. Like. Look at Herah. When you look at Herah you think, ah, yes, that’s someone named Herah. If you looked the name Herah up you’d find her picture. Or Evelyn. Evelyn is a sensible name and you look at Evelyn and what is she?”

“The Inquisitor is hardly the image of sensible, Malika.”

“No, but she’s the most sensible of all of us.”

“I highly doubt that the name you give your dog will have that much impact. Perhaps in other people’s perceptions of her, but I don’t think it would actually affect her personality,” Solas says. “She’s already three months old. She’s already developed a personality of her own.”

Said dog is currently grinning up at them, butt planted on the ground, stumpy tail wiggling as she looks between the two of them.

Malika coos at her dog. Her dog yaps back.

Solas silently and without prompting takes some of the books Malika was taking from her hands and puts them under his arm.

“True, she already has a strong foundation but what if the name I choose for her further changes into something? What if she becomes molded by it?” Malika asks. “What if I name her something too strong and it like, drastically changes her personality into something totally strange and impossible?”

“Impossible?” Solas raises an eyebrow. “For Malika Cadash? I didn’t realize there was such a thing.”

Malika laughs.

“Listen,” She says, “You can’t talk about names not shaping personalities and stuff. Your name is Solas.”

Solas hums, “As you say. How many of these books are you planning on scouring for names?”

“All of them! What if she’s meant for a Tevene name? Or a Nevarran name? I won’t know until I read it.”

“What will be your basis for choosing?”

“Whichever one she responds to the best, obviously.”

Solas glances down at the dog. “I feel, Malika, as though your dog will respond strongly to anything you call her by as you are the one calling her. Mabari are incredibly intelligent, after all.”

“But there’s got to be one she likes better than all of them. And I’m going to find it.”

-

“This is an intimidating line up,” Maxwell muses. He’s whispers to Blackwall under his breath, “Are you the only one feeling inadequate right now?”

Blackwall coughs a laugh under his breath, “Whoever organized this probably should’ve thought about the regular sort a bit more. Makes us look sub-par.”

The Inquisition’s procession to Halamshiral has some of their military up front, marching before Evelyn and the main advisors.

Bull and Cassandra are leading in front, Maxwell and Blackwall behind, so on and so forth. Except, after the Iron Bull and Cassandra Pentaghast in the front - with the Iron Bull and his being the Iron Bull and Cassandra Pentaghast in her sharp, sharp red uniform with her sharp and graceful almond eyes and her pretty mouth and her powerful shoulders and her -

And her everything, basically.

Well. Anyone following behind the two of them would look at little bland in comparison.

Maxwell is feeling extremely bland to the point of non-existence and unimportance. He, as well as the rest of the Inquisition, might as well not have come. Between the two of them they could probably level the entire palace in a day and get Orlais’ support against Corypheus within hours.

He’s not sure why they didn’t just do that, actually.

Maxwell’s in the same uniform - for now, he told Evelyn in the strongest and most firm voice he’s ever used that he’s changing immediately as soon as they arrive because this uniform? Terrible. Beyond words. He’d rather wear a whole templar kit - all two stone of it. The dress ones, too, with the fancy tassels - but he feels like his was made last minute and by an apprentice tailor compared to the Iron Bull and Cassandra.

Somewhere behind them there’s Malika, but she’s not wearing the uniform because she’s supposed to be a dwarven ambassador. Or something. Representing mercantile interests, which is a polite and cleaner way to say Carta without saying Carta.

Ellana and Mahanon went on ahead, or so Leliana told them when they couldn’t be found before their departure. Maxwell has a strong feeling that neither elf wanted to be seen with the Inquisition’s army in their dress uniforms seeing as, and he quotes - “You look like you bathed in the blood of infants”.

“I do hate making a good show,” Maxwell says.

“Too much pomp,” Blackwall agrees. “Surprised there’s no trumpets.”

As if on cue, there are suddenly trumpets.

“You had to say something,” Maxwell mourns. “At least that means we’re close. I don’t think those are our trumpets. We don’t have any.”

Blackwall grumbles, irritated, “It’s going to be a long walk.”

“The weather’s nice,” Maxwell says. “A nice, nice cool evening marching in a cobble stone paved artificial forest to the sound of incredibly pompous trumpets. Have I ever told you about how much I loathe trumpets? It was my instrument growing up. I didn’t have the finger dexterity for a harpsichord, nor the ability to stay sitting long enough to learn it.”

“For some reason I can’t say I’m surprised.”

“You know what would really surprise you?”

“What?”

“Evelyn’s instrument was the guitar and that’s because she broke her piano-forte teacher’s fingers with the lid by accident and they couldn’t trust her with anything else.”


	87. Chapter 87

“We have two options to move forward,” Evelyn says, leaning heavily against Kaaras. Actually he’s practically carrying her upright but giving her the dignity of having her feet on the ground, even if they aren’t carrying her weight. “Either we move forward with the Inquisition as is and continue to do what we have been doing - at this point Orlais and Ferelden wouldn’t be able to stop us, we all know it, and with the events that just occurred here we would be more than within our rights to tell them that nothing is under control and we are under attack from foreign and unknown entities combined. Agreed?”

“Oh we know what  _entities_  we’re going against,” Sera sneers, shrugging off Malika’s hand on her arm, “We’re up against  _Solas_  and the Qun and whoever the fuck both groups manage to get under their control and with our luck there’s probably Tevinter thrown into the mix.”

“The Dalish,” Mahanon says calmly, “Don’t forget the Dalish.”

All eyes swing towards him and he calmly lifts one shoulder in a half-shrug, “A deeply oppressed group of people are about to be awakened to centuries of lies, deceit, and their first glimmer of real possible hope in a very glamorous cocktail of what I imagine would be very sweetly poisoned propaganda. There will be clans who like the taste of that poison. You will go to war with - what I can frankly and at my most pessimistic say -  _large_  portion of the clans.”

Ellana is silent and watchful, but she does not say anything to challenge her brother’s assertion.

“And our other option?” Herah says, arms crossed as she examines Evelyn for any sign of strain.

(“We don’t have to do this now, fuck’s sake Trevelyan, you’re barely out of surgery,” Herah said, exasperated. “Give it time to settle so you can think clearly without us having to pour drugs down your throat.”

“We strike now while they’re still fumbling and we have all the information,” Evelyn protested. “If there’s one thing I’ve learned from all this it’s that  _we_  want to be the ones controlling the narrative.”

“ _What_  narrative do we even have?”

“One where it’s us against the world and a genocidal god, Herah, the same song and dance we’ve dealt with for the past few years. It’s such old hat I could do this with one hand tied behind my back.”

“Fucking hell, Trevelyan. Leave the depreciating humor to your cousin.”)

“Disband,” Evelyn says. It feels like tearing open all her stitches. But across her soul, instead.

Out of the corner of her eye she can see Maxwell’s jaw clench.

“Fuck  _no_ ,” Sera exclaims and it sets off a cacophony against Evelyn’s headache. She feels Kaaras’ cool energy wash over her temples and she gives him a weary nod of thanks. Kaaras just looks sad. And tired.

“We aren’t throwing away everything we’ve built up, that’s ridiculous,” Edric says, “We can’t start over from scratch, Trevelyan. This is a problem more insidious and widespread than Corypheus. Plus we’re still dealing with cleaning up that mess. If we disband and start over there’s no telling how far behind we’ll fall.”

“Solas had spies,” Mahanon says, “And the Inquisition has grown beyond the scope of those present. There have been traitors and secrets kept among us before. Thinning the numbers isn’t a completely unthinkable act.”

“Thinning the numbers,” Sera deadpans. “Thinning the numbers, he says.”

“The Inquisition did amazing things when it was still small,” Malika points out, “And we don’t even know what we’re fighting, so it’s not like we can say we need an entire  _army_  stationed across Thedas to do it.”

“But there will be fighting,” Herah shakes her head, “It would be nice to think we could cut this off. But this has been brewing for a while. We’re going to need those men and women. It might not be now, or even a year from now, but we  _will_  need them and we  _don’t_  want to have to play catch up to whatever forces  _everyone else_  will have at the time.”

“Bull, any thoughts, considering your previous line of…everything?” Edric asks.

“The Inquisition is too big,” The Iron Bull says, “But Adaar is right. This has been going on for a long time and we’ve got enemies on all sides. Even if the Inquisition has spies on the inside that can be… _managed_. What can’t be dealt with is a timetable for starting from scratch. Even if you  _did_  start over entirely there’d still be remnants of your reputation. It’d be mostly the same people joining up again. You still invite the same amount of risk.”

“There is more than one problem that we face here,” Cassandra says, putting a hand on Maxwell’s shoulder and giving him a worried glance before she addresses the rest of them, “Reputation and fame among them. This is not a simple war we can fight. Information is our weakness. And we cannot reliably get information if we are not sure about who is reliable. We have no leads, we have no targets, we have nothing to go on aside from Solas who has proven himself to be near untraceable.”

“Disband and thoroughly secure our forces to who’s reliable, or remain as we are with all our resources and our infiltrators intact,” Kaaras says softly, “It’s…one hell of a choice.”

“But it is a choice that has to be made,” Dorian says, “And whichever one you make you know that I’m with you. I’ll make the trip across the ocean and get sick as many times as you need me. Say the word.”

“It’s your Inquisition,” Josephine says gently, speaking up for the first time, the sound of her pen scribbling notes down pausing, “It’s your choice. And as with everything that has passed before us, Evelyn, I am with you.”

Evelyn looks around this room filled with the people she’s gathered into her life.

This is not the life she imagined for herself, living in the Circle. A full life.

(Full of pain and agony and suffering. Full of joy and relief and euphoria and laughter.)

“It is not the Inquisition I follow,” Mahanon says when she meets his eyes, “It is  _you_.”

And past him, Ellana lowers her head once, “You are our family, Evelyn Trevelyan. We go with  _you_.”

“You’re a Jenny and Jennies stick it together to stick to bigger guys. Even if the Inquisition is like, the biggest guy out there.” Sera says, “Remember?”

Kaaras’s hand squeezes her arm in silent support.

She looks to Max.

Fierce, loyal, and selfless Max.

“Lynn,” Max says, “I won’t lose you again.”

(In a room that is filled with angry people, several floors and buildings away from this one, Cullen and Leliana are fighting tooth and nail to keep everything together while Evelyn makes this decision. And she knows without a doubt that whatever decision she makes here, those two will be with her until the end. The people here? They all will be. If she just asks.

This is the real Inquisition.  _They_  are the Inquisition.)

Evelyn thinks about the things she wants. She thinks about the things she needs.

She thinks about the things she needs to do.

“I need your help,” Evelyn says, locking eyes with each of them, “Just like before. No matter what anyone says I’m not the one who stopped Coryepheus or the Breach. It was all of us. Together. I don’t know where to start or how long this will take. I don’t know where this will take us or what more we will have to sacrifice. I do not know what decisions lie ahead or what things we will have to compromise. We here have all lost and have had things stripped away from us. If any of you decide now is the time for you to focus on yourself, I wouldn’t blame you. You have all done more than enough, above and beyond what anyone could ask or demand of you. But. I will ask again. Will you join me?”


	88. Chapter 88

“You’re too good for this world,” Dorian murmurs, head resting close to Kaaras’, tracing the lines of his cheeks, the way his temples sweep up into his horns and the way the color of his skin changes on the way there. Kaaras continues to sleep soundly, wondrous and magnificent. Dorian is quickly running out of words to describe this man.

Wondrous, magnificent, spectacular, awesome, mesmerizing.

He could go through every single badly written poem or purple-beaten romance novel in Cassandra’s wholesome collection and there still wouldn’t be enough.

What Dorian means is -  _too good for me_.

(But damn it all, Dorian is selfish enough to say he’ll hold onto this anyway. Regardless of what he deserves. This he can have. He can keep.  _This.)_

“I can’t believe you don’t even realize it,” Dorian muses.

“It’s enough that we do,” Mahanon says, voice low and rough as he noses the back of Dorian’s neck, “Why are you awake?”

Dorian’s not sure, exactly. But it isn’t that early and he can hear the sounds of people moving about the castle fortress well enough. There’s still some time before he needs to be up and working again at his infinite amount of spells and theories and ideas that could possibly be used to get them closer to the end of all of this that much faster. This war is as much a race against time as it is anything else.

There are parts of Dorian that want everything to slow down, though. To slow down. Stop.

Maker, for once in his life he just wants everything to  _stop_.

Dorian’s never felt this way before. His entire life until now he just wanted things to keep going, to wash over and past him. The sooner gone the sooner he could move on to other things, different things. Not always better things. Dorian has led a life where he’s wanted nothing to do with  _keeping_. Just…moving.

But there’d been nothing worth keeping in Tevinter.

There had been Alexius, and then Alexius had gone…mad with grief and obsession and there had always been Felix. Clever, good, kind, and compassionate Felix. And then Felix was gone.

But there’s something worth keeping  _here_.

Kaaras was right, Dorian has to tell Mahanon.

Dorian wants to keep this, them. This is not something that he wants to end. But it will, inevitably, because he has to go back to Tevinter, eventually.

And he knows that eventually is when Corypheus is gone.

There are things he must do, people he must face, and institutions he must challenge. Dorian came to the south with his head held high with pride for his country. Love for it. And he still does love his country and he desperately wants to prove the world wrong - they are not the Venatori, they are not the evil boogeymen of the North. There is a richness to his people, culture, there is  _time_  that they have that Ferelden and Orlais and Antiva and Nevarra and the Anderfels and the Free Marches and all of the South has in glimpses and remembered snatches. Tevinter still has it. That ancient time. It still runs through them and maybe it’s time for that to change.

Maybe that ancient self that they’ve been clinging to needs to be…put away. No, not put away. Modernized.

They can keep the good parts, because there are good parts worth being proud of. But they don’t have to cling to the terrible parts.

Dorian wants to fight for those good parts, because Tevinter shouldn’t have to exist on the border of Thedas’ minds as one terrible thing fighting back another terrible thing and the better choice between the two. They have poets and artists, they have historians and mathematicians, they have good honest people and they have stories and songs of their own.

Dorian wants to fight for those things so he can bring them here.

And so he can bring the good things worth keeping  _there_.

Dorian finds Mahanon’s hand and gently runs his thumb along Mahanon’s knuckles, feeling Mahanon’s fingers sleepily twitch, softly curling against Dorian’s stomach as Mahanon hums, warm breath fanning against Dorian’s neck and shoulder as he tucks himself closer to Dorian’s back.

“Sleep,” Mahanon mumbles, “Before my nightmare of a sister comes in to complain about whatever it is that’s caught her attention.”

Dorian wants to bring Mahanon to Minrathous and show him the gardens. He wants to show Mahanon the untouched forests and the grand views from the college towers. He wants to give Mahanon the honey and seed cakes that Dorian liked best when he was a child.

He wants to introduce Kaaras to his former colleagues and throw open the doors to every library for Kaaras to pore over and absorb into that vast and quick mind of his. He wants to put a piece of chalk into Kaaras’ hands and point him at the nearest board and talk theory with him all day every day and then walk him to the art galleries and think in silence.

He wants to link hands with both of these quick and wonderful and powerful men and show them the place that made him  _him_.

These are the men who made him  _dare_  to want, to hope, and he wants to show them the world he’s going to dare into this age.

“I,” Dorian says gently and for the first time, out loud, “Am going back to Tevinter, and I won’t run away this time. I’m going back to Tevinter and I will fight for this.”

Mahanon’s hand curls tighter and he presses so close against Dorian that he can feel the shiver of Mahanon’s ribs as he exhales.

“I know you will,” Mahanon says, voice quiet and small but also fiercely proud, “You are Dorian Pavus, Altus most recently of Minrathous. And I would expect no less from you.”

Dorian closes his eyes when Mahanon says that because he isn’t going to  _cry_. Not for the way Mahanon says Dorian’s name so gently, not for the way that Mahanon says that last sentence sounding like a man who’s just signed away his life.

Because it sounds like Mahanon wants to cry, too.

Dorian could go his entire life without seeing Mahanon weep. Not for him.

“I won’t let you go,” Dorian says, voice choked. “I won’t let either of you go.”

“Don’t,” Mahanon whispers back, voice just as tight. “Don’t.”


	89. Chapter 89

A young man walks into the shop, well dressed and in fine riding clothes. He doesn’t look the sort to come into Willvan’s store. Young men with golden brown hair and sun-kissed skin wearing riding leathers do not come to Willvan’s store to browse for much more than gifts for their lady loves.

But the man walks in, chattering animatedly to his companions who follow in after.

The next man who enters, shrouded in a dark mantle that covers his shoulders and head does not seem the type either. He wears daggers obviously, and if anything at all said about the Dalish - most certainly Dalish, Wilvan can see those terrifying tattoos from here, partially hidden in the alcove where he keeps his carrier birds - there are many more weapons stored not as obviously. The Dalish man slides behind the first like a shadow, unresponsive to the first man’s chatter.

Willvan thinks it most unlikely that a Dalish… _hunter_  would follow a young - of Willvan isn’t mistaken - nobleman about Val Royeaux.

He bites his tongue and barely manages to swallow back a sharp squeak when the hood tilts  up and a pair of dark eyes flash, meeting his. The elf knocks the hood of his mantle back, revealing long pale hair tied back into a braid.

The nobleman stops talking, following the elf’s line of gaze and flashes wondrously white teeth at Willvan.

“I do hope you are the proprietor of this fine establishment,” The man says (ah,  _Free Marcher_ ), striding forward and holding out his hand, Willvan shakes it out of reflex more than any real desire to, “Otherwise this would be most awkward. I am looking for a book. Several books. For a friend.”

Willvan nods. “Of course, ser. What is your friend in need for?”

Reading is a very strange thing. For some it is a privilege, for others it is a duty, and for a strange and wide amount of people fortunate enough to be able to it is a bothersome chore best left to servants and those under their employ. He’s never quite understood it.

They always make sure to specify, though - not for me, for someone else.

The nobleman reaches into his coat and pulls out a small scrap of paper, unfolding it and handing it to Willvan, “I have a list.”

Of course he does.

Willvan skims it, eyes raising.

“For a friend?” Willvan repeats.

This isn’t light reading one does before bed, for certain.

“This is…highly specific,” Willvan says, “It may take me a few days, even weeks, to procure any leads on finding information on these, ser. I’m afraid I would not have anything close to use on hand.”

“That’s fine,” the man says.

“The expense,” Willvan says, “To procure these may be quite high as well. If I can find sources to your liking, of course.”

The man’s teeth make another show, “You will most certainly be compensated for your troubles, good man. And as to the quality of the sources, I am afraid that I would be quite out of my depth, but I am sure we would be most grateful for anything you can procure for us.”

The elf, meanwhile, has glided off to inspect the rows of books closer to the windows, eyes skimming over shelves. Willvan wonders if he’s literate. Some elves are, some aren’t. He supposes it would be rather difficult to learn one’s letters - Orlesian or otherwise - traveling about the road like that.

“Is there any particular rush, ser?” Willvan asks, “Will you be in Val Royeaux for long?”

“A few more days,” The man turns over his shoulder, “Four?”

The elf turns and gives the other man a flat look before returning to perusing the shelves, reaching up and pulling one down, flipping it open.

The man grimaces and turns back to Willvan, “Three more days at the most. Three and a half, maybe. But we are on something of a schedule. So many appointments to keep. You know how it is.”

“Your address then, ser, or the address of where you will be going next if possible, so I may contact you?” Willvan asks, quickly turning to get some parchment and ink.

“Of course,” the man says, “I will have some people remaining in Val Royeaux as messengers, I will leave their names and addresses to you. Simply give my name and what you were asked to do and they will be able to pass any information on immediately. Do you require a down payment of any sort?”

“No, ser, not at this time. If I find something you think may fit your friend’s needs then I would ask for partial payment to begin to the process of bringing the book here, or to wherever you would like,” Willvan replies.

“Most excellent,” the man nods as he quickly writes on the parchment, “I will most likely not be back to pick up any books in person, unfortunately. When something comes about I will send note of who I will send in my place. Would that be permissible?”

“Of course, ser,” Willvan says, nodding. The man smiles at him again and hands the paper back. “I will get started right away. Is there anything else you might need?”

“This,” the elf says, closing the book with a loud  _snap_  and holding it up, “Ellana’s birthday is coming up. She’s been bored. She’s  _annoying_  when she’s bored.”

Willvan recognizes it as one of the drier books on mathematical conundrums and mysteries, particularly it has a rather lengthy section on the history of the number  _zero_.

“Wonderful, we can say it’s a joint gift.”

“Find your own, Trevelyan,” The elf says, “Pay the man.”

Willvan feels his hands go numb as he turns back to  _Trevelyan_  and is ever so grateful for his mask.

Trevelyan -  _Maxwell, it must be Maxwell_  - turns his pretty teeth onto Willvan and says, “I would apologize for Mahanon but really it wouldn’t mean much. How much for the book? And would you happen to have anything pertaining to romance poetry? I might as well get something for Lyn while I”m here.”

Evelyn Trevelyan.  _The Inquisitor of Thedas_.

Romance poetry.

Right, that Willvan has plenty of in stock.

“Right this way,” Willvan says, gesturing Maxwell  _Trevelyan_  to a different section of his shop. Maker, mother won’t  _believe_  it when he tells her. “Are you looking for any particular type of romance poetry? Sonnet? Long? Short? Collections? Themed?”


	90. Chapter 90

“Does she know about the baby?” Are the first words that come out of Mahanon’s mouth. They aren’t the strangest things he’s said to her, but in general this is one of the more worrying ones.

“Does who know about the what?” Evelyn repeats.

Herah puts a hand on Evelyn’s shoulder, “No, I stole her mail and filtered parts out.”

“ _You what my what and you did what_?”

“She’s very, very tired,” Maxwell says, putting an arm around Evelyn’s shoulders and sounding strangely calm and reasonable considering that for one thing there’s something she needs to know about a baby and Herah’s been  _reading her mail_. “You have to understand, Mahanon. You know how she is when she’s… _you know_.”

Mahanon sighs, “Yes.”

“I’m what when I’m what?” Evelyn looks between her three friends, soon to be former friends because she’s being talked around like a rock and apparently they filter information from her.

“Trevelyan, for the past five days it’s been like a beehive crammed itself up your ass,” Herah says, “No one wanted to tell you anything because you get. You know. Crazy. And it’s hard enough dealing with you at your normal crazy without throwing in  _baby_  on top.”

“First,” Evelyn shrugs off both Maxwell and Herah, “I want to know about this baby. Then we’re going to sort out why you shouldn’t be filtering my mail, though I’m going to be very, very optimistic and consider that you did it for my own wellbeing out of the goodness of your heart. Herah.  _Herah._ ”

“Yeah, sure, not at all self preservation from your perpetual nearly at a melt down state, yeah, right,” Herah muses, scratching behind her ear, “Let’s go with looking out for your mental stability. Why not?”

“What. Baby?”

“Your soon to be niece once you and Cullen get hitched,” Edric calls out from behind Mahanon, “She’s got a pair of lungs on her.”

Three things seem to happen simultaneously.

One, Evelyn’s mind seems to be stuck in some sort of echoing loop of the word  _neice_?

Two, Mahanon steps to the side and straight down across the bridge to Skyhold Evelyn can see a woman with familiar blonde hair standing next to a man with familiar blonde hair, and the woman is holding a baby and waving.

Three, Evelyn’s knees buckle and Maxwell yelps as Evelyn pretty much falls down onto him.

There is a lot of startled exclaiming as Evelyn’s hearing slowly fades out about the roaring in her ears.

 _Mia Rutherford is visiting Skyhold with Cullen’s nieces and nephews and no one told her_.

“I need to recite the entire Chant,” Evelyn says as Maxwell holds her up, fumbling for a healing potion. “I need absolution. Obviously that’s why this is all happening to me. There can be no other explanation. I  _sinned against the Maker_.”

“You coveted a man like that,” Mahanon says, leaning over her, eyebrows raised in concern and also mockery.

“Yeah, Trevelyan, you took him off the path of righteousness and made him break his  _vows_ ,” Herah laughs. “Payback, now you’ve got to marry him and make an honest man out of him.”

-

Evelyn turns around and points a finger in Sera’s face, “Sera. Sera.  _Sera._  Whatever it is you’re going to ask, the answer is  _no_. Don’t start with me today. I mean it. I really, really mean it. I have to walk into a council of Orlesians in ten minutes to talk about trade routes for  _silk lace_. That’s ridiculous. We all know it’s ridiculous. But apparently it’s incredibly important because if I swing this right we get a high toll from the road usage and we need it. Do not make me walk into that meeting in a foul mood.”

Sera pushes Evelyn’s finger out of her face, “I’d say you’re already in a snit. What crawled up your butt and died? Anyway, I wasn’t going to ask anything. I was just going to give you a message from Dorian, just got it from Leliana’s birds. Or are you too pissy to read notes from the field now?”

Evelyn sighs, turning to the closest wall and hitting her head against it lightly. “I’ll take the note. I’m sorry, Sera. Things are…”

“Hectic? Shitty? Weird? Yeah, I know, I don’t blame you for losing your shit now and then,” Sera says, patting Evelyn’s shoulder. “Maybe do that in front of more people? Makes you seem more normal, you know. Easier to talk to.”

“I am easy to talk to.”

“No. You’ve got this weird aura of princess in a tower mixed with scary super smart mage and like, savior of Thedas,” Sera says, “I mean. Assuming you do save Thedas, which I’m really hoping. I mean, I’ve pretty much put everything I’ve got on the one horse.”

“Can I have the note please?”

“Yeah, here,” Sera says, “Were you running a little late, any chance?”

“I woke up late, yes, why?”

Sera grins and tugs on Evelyn’s coat, “Inside out. I hope you took the back halls here, otherwise you’d have walked through Skyhold with your clothes wrong way abouts. Though I guess that’s a really good and quick way of making yourself approachable. Good luck with the lace, Evelyn.”

-

“I knew you wouldn’t be able to do it,” Malika says, finding Mahanon on the top-most spire of Skyhold’s less than safe towers. No one’s gotten around to fixing it up yet, mostly because no one’s using it. Except for Mahanon when he wants to hide.

She found him here a few months ago when she was exploring and chasing a cat she’d found. He made her promise not to come back up here alone because it’s dangerous and also to not tell anyone this was his hiding spot. It’s Mahanon, so it wasn’t in so many words, but Malika understood him anyway.

“Do what?” Mahanon replies, turning an arrowhead over between his fingers slowly, gazing out into the evening. There’s a few candles set up around and Malika adds her lantern to it as she sits down next to him, tugging at his mantle until he shifts and lets her borrow some of it to stick one of her cold hands in against his side. Mahanon tenses at the cold but lets her leech off anyway.

“Say goodbye to Dorian,” Malika replies. “I mean, with the rest of us. I’m sure you said goodbye on your own. You just didn’t see him and Kaaras off.”

Mahanon doesn’t say anything, he just keeps turning the arrowhead over between his fingers.

Goodbyes aren’t easy. Malika can’t fault him.

Evelyn looked devastated to watch Dorian ride across the bridge.

“I don’t want my last memory of Dorian Pavus being him looking green as he stands next to the port,” Mahanon says after a few moments of candle light and silence, “It’s very unflattering on him.”

His voice is steady but Malika can hear the catch. Like a flicker of a candle’s wick.

“Yeah, he’d have wanted you to remember him pretty,” Malika nods. “But he is coming back. And you can visit.”

Mahanon hums in acknowledgement. It’s not the same, of course. But it’s not forever.

“He’s not going to forget you or Kaaras,” Malika continues. “I don’t think he’ll stop loving you. Ever. Distance or no.”

Mahanon taps the arrowhead against the stone.

“Malika.”

“Yeah?”

“Stop.”

A waver, a catch, that almost takes the candle light out.

“Okay,” Malika says. “Do you want me to go now?”

“Yes.”

“I’ll leave the lantern.”

“No, take it. You’ll fall with your head i the clouds and I’d have to tell your uncle about it.”

Malika stands up and kisses Mahanon’s cold cheek.

“If you don’t come down before supper I’m going to tell Evelyn where this place is. See you later, Mahanon.”


	91. Chapter 91

“Perhaps another time," Leliana says. It is not the same answer that she gave Lady Trevelyan, but she cannot find it in her to give that same answer to young Malika Cadaash. There is something painfully familiar about Malika Cadaash.

“Okay,” Malika says, nodding easily. But she is an open young girl, young woman, and she is not quick enough to hide the flash of hurt and embarrassment at being rebuffed. Leliana feels a small twang of guilt inside her chest.

Malika is a child in so many ways. Even if she wears heavy armor and can use a sword or a mace and has taken blows means for people twice her size.

Children just want to hear stories.

They were all children, once.

“Another time,” Leliana repeats, softer, and means it. It somehow feels easier, even though it is still painful, to promise Malika her stories.

Malika nods, shoulders raising with the promise and she turns to go.

Evelyn wanted her stories to talk, to understand her more. There is a difference between the way an adult and a child wish to share stories and tales.

Children want stories because that is part of being a child. There is a glory that can be touched upon in a story that only children can find, even when the teller has long lost the taste of it. You can find it again through a child’s ears.

Leliana watches Malika leave down the stairs back towards the library, probably to find Kaaras or Dorian and ask them for book recommendations.

“You used to have so many stories,” Zevran says, emerging from the shadows. He’s gotten much better at hiding. He’s come far from the assassin that got trapped by two Warden initiates, a hedge witch, and a Chantry sister.

And of course a dog.

They all have, though.

“You could tell her some of yours,” Leliana says, “I wager you’d have many exotic ones, filled with candied fruits and dashing encounters with handsome young things.”

“I am the handsome young thing,” Zevran replies, laughter in his eyes, “As are you, lady. You were one of those encounters, I do so recall.”

“Not in the way your tone is implying, Crow,” Leliana shakes her head. “You can tell her stories if you like. I’m sure that you’d fill her head with grand ideas and images.”

“I think I shall lead with that time our lovely Commander broke herself out of prison in only her underthings,” Zevran muses, leaning his hip against her desk and crossing his arms, face raised towards her several messenger birds in thought, “As I recall our good friend Sten was attempting to go in as a circus act.”

“We almost thad to go back and spring  _him_  from prison,” Leliana says, “Was it Morrigan who was with him?”

“I believe so,” Zevran laughs, shaking his head, “Such strange times we lived in.”

“Live in,” Leliana corrects. “You should tell her your stories, Zevran. Yours have always gone down much more sweetly than mine.”

Zevran looks at her fondly. There are so few people who look at Leliana and can touch her with their eyes the way Zevran can. And all of those people were gained and lost again in that one year.

In her heart they are always together. They are always young and sitting around a campfire in the middle of Ferelden’s woods. They are always on the precipice of something dangerous and something astounding and something impossible. And the love is always palpable on her lips.

In Leliana’s heart, they are still together and not continents and oceans apart. Even if some of them have departed, never to be seen again.

Maker willing, she will join them all someday. But not yet. Not just yet.

“My stories may be sweet, Lady Nightingale, but yours were always the more powerful prose.”

-

“Oh my gosh, Paragons, you’re  _the Dagna.”_

 _“The Dagna_? Wow, I must have gotten impressive if I get an article in front,” Dagna says, smiling at the young woman who’s found her way into her forge.  _Her! Forge!_  Dagna has her own workspace! And it’s got a huge cool waterfall feature. She’s  _underneath a castle_.

And she’s got prime access to  _Rift material_.

This is probably one of the best things that’s ever happened to her. Ever.

“Yes! You’re so impressive! The most impressive! I’ve heard about you!  _You’re the Dagna!_ ” The young girl repeats, beaming, voice cracking with excitement. She’s clutching several books in her arms and her face looks like it’s going to split.

If she had more soot and dirt on her face and maybe looked more scruffy she’d look exactly like Dagna did when she was younger and just starting her circuit of traveling the Circles and Colleges.

“That’s me, I guess,” Dagna says, waving the young dwarf in, “And who are you?”

“I’m Malika, Malika Cadaash,” Malika says, coming in, “I was told to bring these research materials here but  _no one told me I’d be bringing them to you_. Ancestors. Hi. I’m rambling. I think? Um. It’s just,  _it’s really you_. Wow.”

Dagna doesn’t normally get this kind of reception.

This is kind of refreshing.

Dagna laughs takes the books from Dagna, setting them down on her work table. The Inquisitor’s people move fast, she only just asked for these three days ago. She wonders how they got here.

“Hi Malika, nice to meet you,” Dagna holds out her hand and Malika looks like she’s going to burst out her skin. Her grip is energetic and firm and Dagna feels like she’s being confronted with a very excited mabari. “You have any interest in crafting?”

“Oh, I’m not particularly good at anything with my hands that isn’t, like. Fighting or stealing,” Malika says, “But I just. You’re the first! And you’re amazing! I bet you know so much and - I just. I kind of want to - I don’t know? Learn all the things too? And you  _met the Warden Commander_. You lived through the Fifth Blight! You’re a  _hero_.”

Dagna’s not sure she’d go  _that far_.

“To be fair, she wasn’t the Warden Commander at the time, and by the time I reached the surface she’d pretty much taken care of everything,” Dagna says. “I didn’t actually do anything during the Blight.”

“Well, you’re still  _my_  hero,” Malika says and Dagna feels a very sudden need to show of with something. Anything.

“Want to help me with some runes?” Dagna asks.

Malika looks like she’s going to faint, “Can I? Are you sure it’s okay? I can - can I just watch?”

“No way,” Dagna laughs, clapping Malika on the shoulder, “Where’s the fun in just watching? Come on. Hands on, let’s get some learning in. How do you feel about experiments?”


	92. Chapter 92

“Hey, you know, I don’t believe I’ve said this recently, but  _what kind of shitty luck does your cousin have_?” Sera hisses at Maxwell as they flatten themselves against the tunnel’s side, breathing heavily.

Kaaras makes a sharp hushing sound at them. The man has blanched impressively pale. Maxwell will never wrap his mind around how someone so damned big can be so incredibly anxious and high strung at all times. Edric, next to Kaaras, doesn’t  _look_  afraid, but he does look like something in him has just up and abandoned Edric’s physical form to this fate.

“It can’t hear us from here,” Maxwell whispers and then they all freeze at the tremor that they can feel through their legs as something very large, very mean, and very, very dangerous  _literally shakes the ground with its movement_. Some dust falls from the ceiling.

“I thought,” Edric says quietly, “It was just  _bears_.”

“If you really, really think about it,” Maxwell whispers, “It would be just our luck to find a dragon in the middle of farmland, wouldn’t it?”

“Not  _our_  luck,” Edric gestures in a rough circle to each of thembefore pointing at Maxwell, “ _Your cousin’s luck_.”

“That’s unfair of you, maybe it’s  _your_  bad luck. Maybe  _your_  bad luck is what brings dragons,” Maxwell replies, “Evelyn isn’t here to defend herself. Unfair of you, Edric.”

“Let’s go back,” Kaaras says, “Let’s just go back and find Evelyn and then she can defend herself and  _we’ll all be very far away from the dragon_. Please?”

“I thought your sort liked dragons,” Sera says as she slowly starts to edge back towards where they came from, her back still pressed tight against the tunnel wall as Maxwell follows suit. Edric sharply kicks Kaaras to get him moving.

“I wasn’t raised in the Qun,” Kaaras answers, “Dragons are just…terrifying half-myths that I learned about growing up and not quite understanding why everyone thought that they’re amazing and wonderful.”

“It’s a six limbed lizard that breathes fire, it’s sort of amazing in the shit your pants way,” Maxwell says.

They all stop moving when another tumor causes stone dust to fall over them.

They slowly turn towards the cavern entrance and a shadow looms.

There’s a very small voice in Maxwell’s head that sounds very loud in a silence like this one. And that small voice shrugs, says,  _alright then,_  and commits to dying via dragon. Roasted alive in his own armor in a little rock tunnel.

Maxwell doesn’t know how long they’re waiting there for the shadow to pass, but when it leaves he feels like his knees are nothing and he almost falls down with relief.

Sera’s hand yanks his arm and they hurry out of the tunnel. As soon as they’re clear they break into a flat run.

“Let’s just leave that to Evelyn,” Maxwell says.

“You say that but you know if she ever did go fight a dragon you’d be the first one signing up to go with her,” Kaaras says when they finally stop running several,  _several_  yards away from the tunnel entrance, to catch their breath.

“No, the Iron Bull would be,” Sera says, “He’d club Maxwell out of the way with his enthusiasm.”

“Not if Herah beats him to it first,” Kaaras sighs. “But if Herah goes  _I_  have to go.”

“If the Iron Bull goes you know both the Lavellans are going.”

“If Evelyn, Kaaras, Herah, Ellana, and Mahanon are going that means Malika is going and that means I have to go,” Edric groans.

“Well I don’t want to be left out of this party,” Sera says, “So I guess I’d be fighting the dragon too.”

“What if we just don’t tell Evelyn there’s a dragon here?” Edric asks, sounding hopeful.

Everyone looks at him blankly,

“It’s Evelyn. The damn thing would probably leave its lair and  _find_  her with its…I don’t know.  _Bad luck sense_ ,” Sera says. “I mean, everything else has been finding her. Like literally going out of its way to find her and try and kill her.”

Maxwell and Kaaras grimace.

“Should we just get the reconnaissance over now?” Edric says as they all mull this inevitable fact of life over.

“Or we could let this happen naturally and let it be a surprise?”

-

“Ellana,” Maxwell calls out waving folded paper at her, “New orders. You coming with me?”

Ellana yawns, stretching her arms up over her head and gives Maxwell a thumbs up from the Iron Bull’s vacant seat by the window. She rolls onto her feet and comes to join him.

“Alright, so I’ve got our bruiser,” Maxwell muses, turning to where Herah, Sera, and Edric are playing cards. “Herah? Sera? Edric?”

“I’ll go, someone has to keep you guys in check,” Herah raises her hand and tossing her cards into the center of the table, “Besides Sera’s working on something here.”

“Yeah,” Sera says, “Sorry. Dagna and I testing new thing and Dagna may be, like, literally the best at all the stuff, but I’ve got more experience with these ingredients.”

“Edric?”

“You kids go have fun,” Edric says, waving them off as he gathers the cards, “Malika’s busy studying with Ambassador Montilyet so i don’t think she’ll be joining you this round.”

“We’re short one person then,” Maxwell says, “Rutherford won’t clear us unless we get one more person, though I’m entirely certain the three of us can handle anything. We’ve got our bruiser, we’ve got our rogue, and we’ve got our good looks. In theory we should be good.”

“I’ll just grab Kaaras,” Herah stands up. “We need a mage.”

Ellana raises her hand and points at herself.

“A mage who casts spells willingly,” Herah corrects.

Ellana shrugs, accepting the clarification with ease.

“Alright, go get him,” Maxwell says, “We’ll need to get going soon or we’ll lose most of the day. Ellana and I will get some horses and meet you by the gates. Thirty minutes enough time?”

“Give me forty, I want to swing by the requisition officer and borrow some things. Don’t let Ellana pick the nugs.”


	93. Chapter 93

"Zevran Arainai,” Kaaras says and watches Mahanon  _not_  react.

“Yes,” Dorian says, the corners of his eyes and mouth turning upwards in - probably - unfairly excited  _glee_. “The Antivan Crow is visiting our spymaster, yes? I heard he was quite famous for his role in defeating the Archdemon during the Fifth Blight. He’s a master of assassinations, I heard, despite his failure to assassinate the Warden Commander.”

“It - It’s a good thing he did - didn’t,” Kaaras replies. This is entirely novel for him. Watching someone  _else_  get embarrassed instead of himself. Oh, it’s certain to come back around to him but for now he can revel in the new experience of being the person who  _isn’t_  teased. “Or we’d all be d- dead. An Antivan Crow.”

“Legendary,” Dorian nods, “And if stories are to be believed - and for a healthy mind and imagination I do believe stories are most vital - he has quite the silver tongue. Dextrous, even.”

The tips of Mahanon’s ears are starting to turn a little pink and Mahanon quickly brushes his long hair over his shoulders in an irritated sweep.

“There are many stories all over the continent of the mysterious and alluring former Crow. I hear that Varric even considered making a new serial but he couldn’t get a feel for the man of mystery well enough to put pen to paper,” Dorian continues, stretching out a leg to nudge Kaaras’ under the table. Dorian rests his chin on his hands and winks at Kaaras before reaching over to pull on the end of Mahanon’s long hair, which is - a rare sight to see outside of their sleeping quarters - unbound.

“Well if he’s here I’m sure that Varric will get plenty of material,” Mahanon says, casting an annoyed look over his shoulder. “Why are you talking about the Crow?”

“Is there a reason we shouldn’t be?” Dorian asks, twirling the ends of Mahanon’s long hair around a finger, like he’s trying to reel Mahanon in. “It’s castle gossip. And he’s a very high profile visitor.”

“He sounds like a character right out of a book,” Kaaras says.

“One of Cassandra’s books,” Dorian adds on.

Mahanon scowls at them as if he doesn’t partake in gossip himself. Though, to be fair, he’s usually the one manufacturing the tales for his own purposes.

“You know what else is castle gossip - well, probably not gossip, but something a little bird told me?” Dorian asks.

“What?”

Dorian leans closer to Kaaras and whispers just loud enough for Mahanon to still hear - “Our amatus here trained very hard to use knives in a fight after learning  about - “

Mahanon rears back, and claps his hand over Dorian’s mouth, eyes wide. “I’m going to kill my sister.”

-

Herah takes one very long look at Josephine and then nods, smiling, “Excuse me.”

And then she bends down and picks Josephine up and starts walking, snow crunching underneath her boots as she trudges through the snow.

Josephine sputters, and she can feel her face going bright red, “Excuse me - Lady Adaar this is most - “

“Not a lady,” Herah says, “Well. Not in the sense that you’re meaning, Ambassador. And it is  _most_  expedient.”

“It is unnecessary,” Josephine protests. “Please put me down.”

“Lady Ambassador,” Herah replies, smiling down at her, “You are not dressed for this weather, and not used to this sort of travel, I think. It is definitely  _most necessary_. Besides, you hurt your ankle earlier.”

“It is very minor, I assure you. And I do not wish to tire you,  _Lady Adaar_.”

Herah laughs, “Lady Ambassador, I could never tire of you.”

Josephine hasn’t felt these kind of flutters since that time with that Antivan Prince about three or four years ago. And the fact that she’s feeling it as they’re hiking from the ruins of Haven in the middle of the Frostback Mountains to some unknown future as the sky tears above them is, most likely, very ill timed. Though in Josephine’s experience such matters can never be timed and are almost never fortuitously scheduled.

The heart knows no such thing as schedules or timely arrangements.

“That is very flattering, Lady Adaar, but I am sure that there are others who could use your help much more than me.”

“You are our face, our first extended hand, Lady Ambassador,” Herah replies, shaking her head. “What would anyone looking to the Inquisition think if they saw our Ambassador limping through the snow looking like a right state? Not the most confidence inspiring image, I think.”

“In comparison to being carried like an invalid?”

“I rather think we look like a rather dashing couple,” Herah replies, “Let it never be said that the Inquisition doesn’t take care of its own. Don’t worry, Ambassador. I won’t carry you the entire way. Just until I find a cart suitable to leave you with.”

“Again, space better used for something or someone else,” Josephine protests. “I can walk just fine. Slow, but fine. Please, Lady Adaar.”

“Call me Herah and I’ll consider it,” Herah replies.

 _Oh but I do, all the time in my head,_  Josephine thinks, but she concedes, “Herah, please put me down.”

Herah hums and then scans the crowd ahead of them and yells, “Ellana! Here!”

Josephine tries to spot the dark haired elf among the others, but she can’t.

Josephine feels a warm tug on her foot and yelps, turning to see Ellana striding along side them like she’s been there the entire time.

Herah startles as well, arms tightening and pulling Josephine closer to her chest.

“Fuck’s sake, Lavellan, do we have to bell you?” Herah curses, shaking her head but moving towards the side to allow the rest of the Inquisiton’s line to pass. “Ellana, the Lady Ambassador has a minor injury to her ankle. She insists on walking, however. Can you walk ahead of her and keep an eye on her?”

Ellana nods, giving Herah a salute.

Josephine shivers as Herah puts her down again into the snow. Herah quickly unbuttons her thick overcoat and drapes it around Josephine’s shoulders, smiling ruefully.

“I’m afraid the fit and style is nothing close to what you must be used to, Lady Ambassador,” Herah says as she gently arranges the heavy fabric over Josephine’s shoulders, “But it will have to do.”

“And what of you?” Josephine asks.

Herah laughs, slaps her arms, “I’v got some good ox-blood in me, as they say. I’ll be fine. I mean, look at the old man over there. Hearty like nothing else. I’ve got the younger blood, I’m good.”

Herah jerks her thumb over her shoulder and Josephine suppresses a laugh when she sees the Iron Bull, calmly pushing his way through the snow with several people following behind him through the path he clears.

Ellana just cackles.

“Don’t push yourself, Lady Ambassador,” Herah says, giving the coat around Josephine’s shoulders one last adjustment, hands lingering before she stands back and to her full impressive height, “We are nothing without your voice of reason, after all.”

“I would say the same to you, Herah,” Josephine replies, “And please. Josephine.”

Herah’s smile is more brilliant than the snow.

“Josephine,” She dips her head and starts heading back towards the caravans, “Until later, then, Josephine.”


	94. Chapter 94

“There is a chance," Kaaras had whispered to their assembly crowded behind the sand dunes out of sight and hearing from the rest of the Inquisition. “Evelyn, we’ve been killing and dispelling a  _lot_  of demons. We have to acknowledge that there is a  _chance_. We have to be ready. We need to have some kind of - some kind of  _code_ , a signal.”

Kaaras had spoken without his usual stutter, so solemn and slow was his delivery of those words.

And Ellana’s face had been so very, very serious as well. Mahanon still couldn’t say if she would or would not fight, only that he had begged her not to.

(This he had told her in confidence.  _Please, do not make my sister fight. Please. I give my blood and flesh and time on this realm for the Inquisition, just don’t let her fight._

 _Mahanon,_  Evelyn had replied,  _I cannot make your sister do anything. It is me who should be asking you to let her fight._

 _I am afraid,_  Mahanon said, eyes not meeting Evelyn’s,  _I am afraid that she will not listen. She has broken such promises before._

What a heavy accusation, Evelyn remembers thinking, what a heavy reputation to carry. A promise breaker. But Mahanon would know more than she on it.

But there must always have been good reason, Evelyn thought.

 _She would not break a promise lightly_ , Evelyn said in Ellana’s defense.

 _And that is why I do not beg you to stop her, lightly,_  was Mahanon’s reply.)

All of them here are mages, Circle and not. Evelyn knows that there are similar gatherings being held in different hidden away areas around the Inquisition’s main camp. They are scattered and small and hidden and staggered so not to be suspicious. A lot of loose organization for such a wide group where none of its members truly know the others fully.

But as mages they all must keep this secret, even the most staunch supporters of the Templars and Circles grudgingly agree.

If non-mages knew what would be discussed during this most important and secret meeting, the Inquisition would fall apart before its greatest challenge yet.

Adamant Fortress cannot be claimed without the use of mages.

And the mages of the Inquisition cannot enter Adamant Fortress without considering this fact -

There will be demons.

And every mage has that  _one_  demon that stalks them in the Fade. That one demon they run across when they dream so often that you learn to recognize them on sight. That one demon that is almost  _fond_  of you because of how often your minds seem to brush in dreams. That one demon that comes closer than all others to  _succeeding_ because of this proximity.

“There are dozens of Inquisition mages,” Dorian whispered, “I don’t care how many Wardens are in that Fortress. The chances of our very specific demons coming out and coming out where we are exactly is slim.”

“But it exists,” Evelyn acknowledged. “But there’s nothing we can do about that. We just have to keep our dispelling circles handy and ready at all times, before any others.”

“And for those of us who don’t know dispell, or might be caught unable to cast it?” Kaaras asks.

“Remember that we face something larger than ourselves, then,” Evelyn said.

It wasn’t a good answer. Their faces showed it. Even Ellana, caster of no spells and holder of strange secrets, looked at her with grim dissatisfaction.

But it was the only answer they had.

And now Evelyn’s eyes meet with a demon’s across the stone and she feels the sounds rush out from around her, her breath rising as the familiar voice slides into her mind. She wonders if everyone can hear the demons, or if it’s just her.

“ _Well, well, well, look at who’s gone against their nature so ardently_ ,” the demon says and Evelyn turns, meeting Cassandra’s gaze.

“Go,” Evelyn says, “We’ll meet together later.”

And so they split up, Evelyn with a contingent of soldiers pushing forward - Dorian at her back, Varric shooting out bolts, and Blackwall moving to help clear the way in front of her - but Evelyn’s eyes remain focused on the demon that’s slipped into the shadows.

Sloth.

Evelyn is assaulted with images in the back of her mind.

Endless nothing. Days going by without change or any real deviation. Stairs that go on forever. Shelves of books she goes through over and over and over again. Days that have no difference.

Her life in the Circle, stretching out until she dies.

 _“You were content, Evelyn Trevelyan, you were content with nothing. Without dreams. Without ambition,_ ” The demon says as it follows her from shadow to shadow, from flickering fire to glittering ice, “ _Does your Inquisition know who leads it? One who would lie down and die in their sleep with nothingness? What do you play at, Evelyn Trevelyan? What kind of false face do you put on for them? It must grow so tiresome, to be something you so clearly aren’t. You are not leader of armies, no muse for change, no patron of hope. You, who’s future you could not imagine or shape because you had no wants or desires._ ”

Evelyn bites her lip and tries to catch Dorian’s eye but he’s busy, yanking Varric out of the way of three arrows before he fade-steps them far enough away that Varric can get a shot at the archers who tried to hit them.

Blackwall is pushing back against a rage demon while also being attacked by a despair demon from afar.

It’s just Evelyn.

 _“Come back with me, Evelyn Trevelyan, and I will return you to your cycle of nothingness. There will be no one to weigh on your shoulders, there will be no demands of you. Just the silence. Just the steady unchanging eternity your mind always imagined._ ”

“But it doesn’t,” Evelyn whispers under her breath as she casts a wall of ice between Blackwall and the rage demon, pushing the two combatants apart and giving Blackwall time to recover. “It is not longer what I want.”

Because in the Circle Evelyn couldn’t think of her future, so she didn’t, she just - existed.

Now, though.  _Now_.

Evelyn’s mind brings her new things with these new people who she’s learned and loved.

Strange and nebulous, unsteady and unclear images but images she finds she wants.

Evelyn no imagines weddings. She imagines debate sessions in the library. She imagines large dinners and afternoon tea. She imagines breakfasts that are loud with tables heavy and people coming in and out, in and out. Evelyn imagines riding through forests and over rocky trails. She imagines, even, the sound of little feet.

Evelyn doesn’t just imagine these things for herself, either. She imagines them for her friends, too. She imagines Mahanon and Kaaras weaving in and out of trees, teasing Dorian who is slower to go at it on uneven terrain. She imagines Herah and Josephine, embracing during winter and at peace in Skyhold’s heavy stone walls, warm with each other’s affections as they drink tea and murmur in their gentle banter. She imagines Cassandra reading her books and she imagines the Chargers around a table with Ellana and Cole among them waving at her to come join them for supper.

She imagines Sera succeeding in her Inquisition cookies.

Evelyn imagines all sorts of futures, now. And she wants them.

She chases them.

The demon laughs, and she sees the shape of it moving back into the darkness, temporarily retreating, “ _It is not so easy to change, Evelyn Trevelyan. We shall see how long you can hold up this facade.”_


	95. Chapter 95

Weakness. Arrogance.  _Insignificance_.

Loud sounds. Strange texture beneath her. Acrid smells of burning things.

Ellana turns and swipes out with her hand at a creature that runs up with the intent to hurt her. They cannot touch her. They are fools to try. She will teach them their place.

The body hits the ground with a loud  _thump_  and Ellana’s lips curl over her teeth, pleased. Yes. Good.  _Know your place._

You do not attack  _me_. Attack me and I will show you the difference between us. She turns to finish, to prove, to make certain the creature in its hard shell knows that the reason it dies is because of  _her_. Because it tried to  _hurt her_.

“Yes, good. Very good. I was beginning to be worried there, Beast.”

Ellana turns, hand raised to deliver the finishing blow with her claws, and she sees movement in the shadows.

Ellana growls, and the metal-cased creature - like a bug - scuttles away.

Insignificant. It learned. It did not try again.

Good enough.

Ellana growls, refusing to give the thing in the shadows any further attention. It is an annoyance. A parasite. Less than a fox or a raven, picking at carrion. It is nothing to her. There are other things to deal with. Other things in their shining shells and loud clanking appendages for her to go after.

“I had been worried, Beast, that you had forgotten your nature. Monster. Animal. Feral thing. Wild creature,” The bug in the dust says, following after her with its glowing eyes and its glittering hide. Ellana snarls a warning to it. “Oh, don’t mind me. I won’t interfere. You know I wont. Or do you? Even after all these years it’s so hard for me to tell with you. Are you in there at all, Ellana? Have you surrendered fully to the Beast?”

Ellana ignores it. It does not know what it speaks of.

She is Ellana. She is powerful. She surrenders to nothing.

Ellana growls. Past lines of glittering creatures in their shells she can see, scent, hear, the familiar sound of a familiar friend to her.

Mother? Father? No. Not them.

Kin, still, not by flesh.

In danger. Hurt. Faltering. Distressed.

Ellana growls louder, running and the glittering shelled creatures yell and scream as they try to get out of her way - not fast enough. They should not have been there in the first place. But they run, they do not attack, so she does not chase.

Ellana runs, and she pushes the ones who do not run out of the way and she bellows out loud and angry because how  _dare_  anyone, anything, try and hurt something that is hers?

Ellana slams into the thing, bites down hard around its neck and tosses it like the weak thing it is. It pleases her to hear and feel bones snap, even if the blood tastes most foul in her mouth, sticky and tacky as it spills over her lips and jaws. She releases the body, and quickly bites down and and again.

The thing thrashes. It protests.

It dies under her and Ellana roars into its dead and dying face.

Go back to wherever you came from and know that you do not raise your hand against what is mine.

“This is who you are, Ellana, this is how you should always be,” The insect says into her ear, Ellana’s ears flick back and she growls low to it. It should not talk like it knows her. It does not. “I have always known you, Ellana Lavellan. I have been into your head. I’d wager that I know you better than you do at this point. And I know that you should be like this. Pure. Driven. Undistracted by pettier things. The truest you is the thing that you are now. Do you not feel the power you posses? You are supreme. There is nothing that should defy you, and if they are foolish enough to - you show them their  _place_.”

Her fur tingles, and she shakes herself, shakes the feeling off, turning, ignoring the insect. She tosses the corpse to the side, out of her way. Away from the things of hers it tried to hurt, harm, damage, injure.

Ah, there, kin, brother. Ellana ambles towards him, and the others - familiar, the smells are familiar. Yes. Not-kin but close. Very close.  _Hers also_.

She rises up onto her hind legs and surveys them. Where are the rest? Who hurts them?

Ellana grunts at her brother, who is hurting them? Who challenges her?  _Who dares_?

Her brother says something to her, gestures for her to stay here with the others. Yes, Ellana will. She will protect them.

Her brother is fast and dangerous like she is. He can protect himself.

The others need her more.

“Yes,” the shadow creature says, “They need you. Because you are the best, the brightest, the most powerful. They are weak. And you are strong, so very strong. Oh, Ellana, how could you ever want to leave this behind? Can’t you see?  _You’re better this way_. You should always be in this shape. Aren’t things much easier? Simpler? Just -  _let go_.”

Ellana swipes out towards a glittering bug that did not learn from what she did to the creature who tried before. Her claws hit and she feels them catch on bone as she tosses that one to the side also.

The shadow bug creature speaks nonsense and riddles. Ellana has neither time not patience for either. What shape? Leave what? Ellana is this. She is always this. She is powerful. She is the best. And she protects.

“Exactly, Ellana. Exactly.”

Her brother says something to one of the other ones - the largest one, almost as tall as she is standing like this - and he answers before her brother gives her one last look and leaves.

Ellana looks over her assembled kin and breathes. Fear, sweat, blood - hurting -, metal, heat.

They are tired. She can tell from their breathing.

Ellana will take care of this.

Ellana breathes in and roars out her challenge.

Let them come. Let them dare.


	96. Chapter 96

"If you were a small child,” Evelyn whispers as they survey the wreckage of Sahrnia - the brutalized houses, the gray and bleak shrunken and withered borders of it, and the furious red banners and growths that have sprung up in place of homes and houses - “Where would you hide in a place like this to get away?”

“Depends,” Maxwell replies, “What am I getting away from?”

“Templars and soldiers,” Mahanon answers instantly.

“Village elders,” Herah says, “People who would put me to work.”

“Venatori,” Sera says, “Obviously. And probably wild animals. I mean, look at this place, I’d think it was free pickings too if I were, I dunno, a bear or something.”

“Somewhere I couldn’t be seen, but where I would also maybe be close enough to come back if I got scared,” Kaaras says.

Evelyn gestures for Harding to take their scouts and spread out. This place isn’t Venatori anymore. It’s Inquisition.

And based on the reports Harding had, it’s going to be a literal up-mountain struggle to purge this land of all Venatori influence.

This has been going on for far, far too long.

Ellana is a silent ghost that brushes against Evelyn’s elbow before she goes to explore the ruins of what was once perhaps a house, or a place of assembly.

Maxwell and Sera go with her to start moving debris.

It looks like people sort of…worked around the destruction, wherever it was. She doesn’t blame them.

What resources or power would they have to rebuild?

There are children missing. Children that no one’s looked for because there hasn’t been the time, the energy, the resources.

Mahanon touches the elbow his sister touched moments ago, “A word.”

Evelyn follows him to a more secluded area, away from the others as they disperse to try and gather information and do  _something_  to help this village.

“We cannot overlook the possibility that these children are not  _missing_ ,” Mahanon says softly, turning them away from the buildings, shielding their faces and mouths. The warm air of his breath rises in soft puffs.

“What do you mean? Taken? By Venatori?”

“Possibly,” Mahanon says, lowering his head, “But not my meaning. There is a possibility that these children were…made to disappear.”

“Mahanon, I don’t follow. Be clear, please.”

“I don’t think these children ran away from home, or were taken, or what have you,” Mahanon says. “At least, I don’t think that’s entirely the case. Some might have. Some. Not all. These people are starving on limited resources and no idea of when help or hope would come. They live off of Venatori aide, and I doubt that the Venatori were generous enough to supply them with enough for their entire population.”

“Not their entire population,” Evelyn says, “They took half the people here to work, or otherwise be some sort of…experiment or sacrifice.”

“Evelyn,” Mahanon says slowly.

“What? What am I missing?”

“Sometimes,” Mahanon says, like he’s talking to his sister when she’s on the edge, or like when he’s dealing with some scared and volatile animal, “When people have too many mouths to feed…they send the children away. And it is not always with the intent of survival.”

It takes Evelyn a few blank moments of lookin into Mahanon’s eyes for it to come together and she pushes him, furious.

Her voice is a cracking hiss when she responds, “They did not send their own children out to die in the woods. Why would you say that?”

“Because I’ve seen it happen before. Because these people were desperate enough to bend to the Venatori for aide. Because I don’t think the Venatori would take children for labor, and none of our mage allies have sensed any dark magic that would mean large amounts of blood magic. Because we cannot presume that the people of Sahrnia are going to point us in the direction we need to go immediately when we have no foothold in the region. We don’t know anything about this situation,” Mahanon says, “Just…be wary.”

-

“You bought Pentaghast a book,” Mahanon says, following Maxwell like a very disturbing and menacing shadow as they walk through the streets of Val Royeaux. Maxwell doesn’t think he’ll ever be able to put the two concepts together: Mahanon, Dalish assassin and top agent of the NIghtengale, and Val Royeaux, seat of the Chantry’s power full of pretty streets lined with orange trees and gold and also on the edges the smell and decay of several thousand elves packed into a very small area like pickles. It’s mind boggling and neither concept belongs within several thousand thoughts of each other, but here they are.

“I bought my cousin a book.”

“No, you bought Pentaghast a book,” Mahanon says, “You said it was for Evelyn but based on the way you were so very thorough about checking the quality there is no doubt you meant it for Pengathast. If it was truly for Evelyn you wouldn’t have gone through so many to decide. Perhaps two or three, not two or three dozen. I never realized there was such a volume of readily available books in the genre. And yet, Dorian and Kaaras can barely scrape together one single book on reptile anatomy.”

“It’s a very nice book. There is no shortage of romances because that is what the people of Orlais and silk and satin and such fantasy thrive upon. Also, it is a marvelous escape from reality for those who are not going to go out and seek their fortunes with blade or bow, I should think,” Maxwell says. No point in trying to lie to the man who digs falsehoods out of people’s skin for a wage. “I think she might like it.”

“Does it have bodices?” Mahanon asks after a beat.

Maxwell’s eyebrows raise up as he turns to look at Mahanon. “Pardon?”

“Bodices,” Mahanon repeats, utterly dry, “Dorian often comments on the amount of bodices being ripped open in her books. He doesn’t seem to particularly find it entertaining, but he continues to read them nonetheless.”

“This particular one does not have any bodices being ripped, from what I can tell. I admit to have only lightly browsed through a few pages. But I recognize the name of the author. I’ve sent Evelyn about three or four novels from the same fellow and I  _have_  read larger portions of those. Also, an entire collection of poems. The poems, I admit, were much better than the prose.”

“As you say,” Mahanon says, “I, myself, wouldn’t know.”

“No, I don’t imagine you would.”

It is not meant to be insulting and Mahanon doesn’t seem to take offense, so Maxwell considers the conversation settled.

“Rutherford might,” Mahanon says as they’re passing through into the less gilded parts of Val Royeaux, where the ominous shadow Mahanon presents would be more prudent towards helping Maxwell watch his back.

“The good Commander might what?”

“Know if it is good prose. He has a rather extensive collection of books. Some of the titles and authors I recognized from the selection you and the shop keeper were discussing.”

“Cullen  _Stanton_  Rutherford, former possible Knight Commander of the Templars, Commander of the Inquisition  _has romance novels and poetry?_ ” Maxwell turns around and throws his arm around Mahanon’s shoulder, reeling him in, “Oh Mahanon, you can’t just leave it there. Please do expand upon this at  _length_.”


	97. Chapter 97

“You kept them,” Maxwell says, surprised and soft. Evelyn looks up at him, the corners of her mouth pulling up reluctantly. She feels too tired for smiling, but there are people who just bring it out of you. “I didn’t think you would.”

“I did,” Evelyn replies, “I mean. I  _used_  to have all of them. I couldn’t take all of them with me when I left the Circle. A lot of paper. I suppose it was a lot of paper that went up in flames, or whatever it is that happened when the Templars raided the Tower for leftover contraband or what have you. I don’t know.”

Sometimes she thinks about going back to the Circle Tower of Ostwick. She thinks about going back to her old quarters and taking back with her all of the letters Maxwell sent her over the years and some of the terrible books as well. She thinks out of all the things she wishes she didn’t leave behind it was leaving behind those letters that hurt her most. It wasn’t her notes or her essays, it wasn’t any of her research or the things she had crafted, it wasn’t any of the other letters she had received or the things she and her fellows would gift each other for holidays and birthdays.

It was the letters.

She remembers most of them, of course. But she’d have liked to have them with her.

Maxwell joins her at her desk, gently nudging aside a few papers as he inspects them, laughing softly, “This one was the first. My handwriting was worse then than it is now, which is saying something. Perhaps the reason why no one ever stopped me from writing was because they knew it would improve my penmanship.”

“It certainly made you a great one-sided conversationalist,” Evelyn replies. “Did it - did you ever consider stopping? My own correspondence was terrible.”

“You were in the Tower, I wasn’t expecting you to ever write me back at all,” Maxwell says. “Every letter you sent back to me was a prayer answered by the Maker himself, Lyn. I wouldn’t have stopped writing you even if they told me you were  _dead_  in there.”

“Thank you for not stopping,” Evelyn says. “It wasn’t as awful as you think it was in there, but it was terribly lonely and monotonous. You were the best part of my day, even as just paper.”

She taps one of the ones she hasn’t gotten to yet, “This one. Here. Do you remember it? Your sixteenth birthday.”

“You’d been in the tower for what - six? Seven years?” Maxwell reaches across the table to take, it, “Is this the one where I tease you about a suitor?”

“It’s the one where you go on about how your parents have started to look for a suitor for  _you_  and how you imagine how it would have gone if I were there and also getting ready to be married off,” Evelyn replies. “It’s one of my favorites.”

“This one? Whatever for?” Maxwell laughs, “It’s just me complaining. I think towards the end I go off on a tangent about running away to Nevarra to be a Mortalitasi just so I could escape marriage interviews.”

“I liked it is all,” Evelyn shrugs. “I just liked it. I hadn’t even - I didn’t even remember it. Marriage interviews. Debut season. I had forgotten that existed, as I was in the Tower. You reminded me and I imagined it and I laughed. You in a brocade suit.”

“And then you made it real by stuffing me along with a great majority of our friends into the worst suits you could find some twenty years later,” Maxwell replies.  

Evelyn’s smile grows just that much more.

“This one,” Maxwell points to another letter, “That one I remember quite well. It was one of  _my_  favorites to send. In hindsight. At the time I was a mess, but with time I realize it contains one of the best things in my life.”

“When you were expelled from Templar training?” Evelyn asks, picking the letter up, holding it gently in her hands. She doesn’t even need to open it to remember how it goes. She’s read it so many times. When she first got it she spent an hour reading it trying to - to figure it out. She read it over and over, her fading memories of what Maxwell’s voice as a child had sounded like reading it to her, and trying to understand. Was he happy? Angry? Upset? The letter was everywhere and nowhere at once.

It was one of the times when Evelyn had a strong, almost uncontrollable, urge to  _leave_. To get out of the Tower, to  _demand to be let out of the Tower_.

“I said I was relieved in it,” Maxwell says, voice dropping into a whisper. Even though it’s just the two of them in her chamber on top of Skyhold’s tallest tower. A better sort of tower than the one Evelyn had left. “It was the first time I had thought it, let alone said it, made it physical. And once I said it, I couldn’t take it back. I didn’t know how  _relieved_  I would feel, to not have to go on, to not have to take that first draught of lyrium, or complete my official vows of service. Maker, Evelyn, I was so relieved and I was so disappointed in myself for being relieved, and I was so ashamed and everyone else was ashamed. But there was a large, almost completely all of me, part of my heart and conscience that just expelled the greatest sigh of relief in all of Thedas when they sent me away.”

Maxwell’s voice wobbles.

“It was like a dream. The entire ride home I was dazed and I couldn’t tell if I was in a dream or not and I - “

Maxwell just closes his mouth there.

Evelyn turns and pulls him into her arms, squeezing as hard as she can until Maxwell hugs her back.

“I’m glad, too,” Evelyn says, finally. “I’m glad you didn’t take that lyrium and I’m glad that we’re on the same side of this war, and I’m glad it wasn’t a dream.”


	98. Chapter 98

“What do you remember about your mother, Kaaras?” Herah asks.

Kaaras closes his hands into fists and opens them again slowly.

“She was hesitant,” Kaaras answers. He loved his mother. He loved his father. He loved them very much. But he knows that they had flaws. He knows that there were times when he felt envious of the humans and their soft mothers and kind fathers.

His parents were kind. But definitions of words change from culture to culture, city to city, people to people. Kaaras’ parents were kind and brave and devoted and entirely in love with each other. And they loved him as best as they could, but that doesn’t necessarily mean they were the best parents.

Kaaras squeezes his hands together and closes his eyes and conjures the image of his mother in his head: her long braided white hair, the sharp points of her pierced ears, her cracked and broken left horn, her broad palms, the shape of her fingernails.

When she would touch him it was always too lightly. Like she didn’t know how to touch him at all, as though she did not know if she could use any pressure or strength.

He remembers he always tried to squeeze her, press against her, harder, anything to get more than the gentle, barely there brushes of her hand on his head or on his shoulder or over his back. But she would always pull away just enough that the touch never deepened.

His father wasn’t like that, his father was rough and firm and solid and steady. When Kaaras’ father held him or brushed his head it was very nice. Like a warm blanket of stone.

But his mother was hesitant and that made her feel very far away sometimes even though she wasn’t. She was always there for him. Always.

“And she loved me. She didn’t want me to go,” Kaaras says.

“It’s been three years, Kaaras,” Herah says. “Your father misses you. He hasn’t seen you since we buried your mother. He waits by the tree, still.”

“I write.”

“He wants to see you, Kaaras,” Herah touches his shoulder. “He’s heard about all the things we’ve done and you know how stories weave themselves. He is afraid for you.”

“I  _write_ , all the time,” Kaaras hunches his shoulders.

“And you like to lie about how you’re doing,” Herah chides, “He asks about you every time, looks for you over my shoulder like you’re lagging behind.”

“I can’t go,” Kaaras says, “She’s not there anymore. And I - I don’t know. I know I’m the one who wanted her buried and everything but. But just  _seeing it_. Seeing our house without her, seeing all of the places she used to be but isn’t - I can’t. I just miss her and it hurts and I don’t know how Father can stand it.”

Herah is quiet as she brushes his hair.

“She isn’t there anymore, that’s how he can handle it. For us we know she isn’t there. She’s been gone since she died.”

Kaaras feels his throat threaten to close and presses his lips together.

“But that’s why he looks for you, waits for you, Kaaras,” Herah continues. “ _You_  are where your mother is for him. For him he can’t find her at her grave or around the house and farm. He finds her in  _you_. The both of them left the Qun to have you, to keep you. In you they see each other and something greater than each other. Go to your father, Kaaras. You are what is left of your mother for him. A reminder of what he left behind and what he did it for.”

-

It is not, usually, the Iron Bull’s business to look after animals. It has been, on the rare occasion, his business to escort a particularly exotic animal to its new owner, or to capture one, but it is usually to kill them. Containing and taming an animal without hurting it is new.

But this is not an animal.

And then again -

There is nothing of the woman he calls  _kadan_  in this bas.

The bear is large and dirty and wild and furious. She scratches and gouges the stone and the other prisoners kept below Skyhold, for once, look appropriate afraid of the situation they are in. Evelyn had the cells on either side of Ellana cleared out until they could find  better place to put her, but even the cells farther away from her look nervous.

Bull does not blame them. The sounds and tremors of her hitting stone feel like earthquakes. They’ve had mages taking shifts with magic to hold the bars and heal any serious injuries from afar.

And also, to keep Mahanon away.

“He will die before she does if he doesn’t take care of himself first,” Stitches had said, “I don’t think he’s slept or eaten in  _days_. If he has it isn’t enough.”

Bull nods at the guards posted at the cell and he pulls out the key Evelyn had put into his palm and the bear’s eyes are dim glitters in the shadows. He can hear the heavy sounds of her panting, almost smell the foam around her muzzle.

His back aches from scratches and bites Dalish and Kaaras healed over, vanished.

“Ellana,” Bull says, ducking to step into the cell as the guards quickly close it behind him, waiting to open it again. “Ellana. Calm.  _Taashath.”_

The bear growls, black lips peeled back over jagged teeth as she claws at the ground.

He holds his hands up, lowering into a ready stance to take her if she charges and carefully takes one careful inch at a time forward.

“Ellana,” He repeats. “Taashath,  _Kadan_.”

“She will not know you,” Mahanon had said in between bouts of manic scrambling and near catatonic weariness. “You can tell her the most intimate of moments shared between you and she would not know you. Bare your throat and she would take it, as any other animal would. It takes her. The transformation. It takes her and it removes so much and she has to find them all piece by terrible piece. And the longer she stays that way the farther into darkness she loses each of those pieces.”

“Is it always like that?” Evelyn asked.

“With Bear, yes,” Mahanon answered, “For the other shapes? No. But once she starts the call remains. I do not understand it. And if there were ever words for it, Ellana had long lost them by the time I had managed to bring her back to tell them.”

“Taashath,” He repeats, because even though it is not her word it was one she liked very much.

“The word in trade sounds strange to its meaning. Calm,” Ellana once told him, very early on in their - their knowing of each other. She had told him this, long ago back in Haven, as they walked underneath the Breach and stars one night. “It somehow seems too short a word for the concept, too small.  _Taashath_. I like that better. It seems softer, it seems more appropriate. Like a sigh of relief.”

She closed her eyes and smiled.

“Taashath,” She repeated. “Taashath.”

He says it now, “Taasthath.”

The bear that Ellana has become does not respond to the word, but it makes Bull feel like he’s doing something at least.

The bear snarls and raises up on her thick hind legs, head almost brushing against the stone ceiling and roars.

Bull stands his ground, but he skids back a little when she collides into him and sinks her teeth into his shoulder. He puts his arms around her and tries to grapple her off, tries to do something. Anything. He does not know why they expect him to reach her when Mahanon cannot.

He has nothing to give her.

“Taasthath, Kadan,” He says, the pain of teeth pulling and tearing at his skin and creaking into bone makes his vision blur. “It’s over. You’re done. You did what you had to.  _It’s over_.  _Katoh_.”

There is a moment when the jaws of the bear ease up, almost release and the pressure on him eases, and then magic pushes her away and Bull is being dragged out by two Inquisition soldiers, one of them already jamming a healing potion into his hand.

The bear roars again, furious, and the magic releases just as they’re past the bars and she runs straight into the bars and barrier. One long claw and arm reach through, almost snagging an Inquisition scout’s tunic as she snarls and rattles the metal.

He leans on the scouts as they help out out, just as Dorian and Evelyn are coming down for their turn.

He shrugs his uninjured shoulder at them as they make room for him to pass.

He does not know what anyone expects.

Too much, he thinks. Too much.


	99. Chapter 99

“You sure do know a lot of people, Varric,” Malika says as they shuffle from marble and mirrored room to marble and mirrored room. There’s a lot of people wearing perfume and pearls and glittering stones that Malika keeps just  _itching_  to swipe. She swears that she wouldn’t feel like this if they weren’t making the targets look so easy.

It’s like super low hanging fruit, at some point you’ve just got to say that they were just  _begging_  for it to get stolen. That’s possibly just Carta talk. Malika’s not sure.

“Oh, those guys? Nah. They know  _me_ ,” Varric laughs, “I have no idea who those guys are, kid. They’re fans. Appreciated but after a while…well. It’d probably help if they all didn’t look and sound exactly the same.”

“That many people are fans of your books?” Malika asks, incredulous. “Is it just the one about Hawke or do your other series get that much traction?”

“ _Hard in Hightown_  is a classic that’s going down in history,” Varric replies. “Come on, I see our next flock coming along.”

“Master Tethras,” A woman in a baffling mass of bright, bright,  _bright_ green taffeta crowned with a baffling profusion of bright pink lace on her head. Malika feels her jaw start to hang open and quickly closes it. “And who is this young lady? A daughter, ser?”

“I’d be damned lucky if that were true,” Varric laughs, putting a hand on Malika’s shoulder, “This is Malika Cadaash, the niece of a close friend and daughter of one of my family’s business partners. She’s assisting with the Inquisition.”

“Hello,” Malika says, trying to drag her eyes away from the strange thing of bright pink that’s just piled up on top fo the woman’s head. “Pleasure to meet you, ma’am.”

It’s just so - so  _pink_  and. Tall. And. She’s not sure how it hasn’t fallen off or snapped the lady’s neck or any number of other things. It just -  _what’s holding it up there_?

Who makes these hats? These dresses?

Malika mostly falls into the background as the lady starts chattering to Varric about his book and trying to weasel any hints about upcoming releases out of him. She’s soon joined by several other people in various degrees of absurd outfits - men  _and_  women alike - and Malika has no idea how Varric is keeping up with all of this.

She clasps her hands behind her back and politely tries looking around for any sign of Evelyn signaling them to move out or something.

Seriously, one lady just has pearls hanging off of the back of her dress. They’re not even that secure.

Malika could just reach out and  _take_  it.

She wonders what Sera is doing. Sera’s probably thinking the same thing right about now.

Malika looks around for Sera but she can’t see around all the wide billowing skirts and huge feathered hats and wigs.

Actually, she hasn’t really seen anyone else aside from Varric and Cassandra after the initial announcements.

Did they start without her?

-

“If I leave you to go and find Doran are you going to cause trouble?” Mahanon asks as they try and find  _one working_  window in this entire damned palace so they can get out. Sylaise guide them, this building makes even less sense than the people’s clothing. He’s seen everything from what looks like entire dinner plates balanced on people’s heads to large spikes protruding from people’s backs and skirts. Mahanon can no longer tell if these people are being entirely sincere and serious or not. The fact that his sister embroidered a dick onto the back of tunic’s neck -hidden by his hair - seems no longer extreme. It actually fits in and he’s not sure if she’d anticipated that or is incredibly disappointed.

He supposes that this sort of perplexing confusion would help if the palace was being invaded. But honestly, how are they supposed to get  _air_  into this building if the windows are unmoving glass? How do you get  _out_?

Ellana laughs quietly and Mahanon rolls his eyes.

“How much trouble, sister?”

Ellana hums, squeezing his arm with hers as she walks into his side, resting her head on his shoulder as they walk. Mahanon leans his head against hers before pushing his elbow against her side and pushing her off.

“Enough trouble to get the both of us kicked out?”

Ellana pinches his arm, giving him a fond smile and a shake of the head.

“I highly doubt that the Orlesians would look down on Evelyn for our behavior. We’re just exotic little pets and entertainments to them. They don’t actually  _expect_  anything from us. That would be too much.”

Ellana’s nails threaten to pinch again, stopping just shy of using force. She raises her eyebrows at him and he sighs.

“Alright, alright. Fine. I’m going to leave you to find Dorian. If I need to find you where should I look?”

Ellana hums some more and then slides her hand into his, signing. Mahanon squeezes her hand once and lets go.

“Are the two of you just going to roll your eyes at people while looking suitably mysterious and untouchable?” Mahanon asks, just a little teasing. There is, of course, the possibility that they’ll just stand in complete silence, not looking at each other, for the rest of the evening.

Ellana kisses his cheek, removing her arm from his and walks away in the vague direction they last saw Solas with his ridiculous hat.

“If you get a way out of this place and don’t come and rescue me I’ll be cross with you for the rest of our combined lives,” Mahanon calls at her retreating back.

Ellana waves and Mahanon rolls his eyes.

Solas will either be relieved to see her and have someone to silently judge the rest of the building with, or he’ll be dragged into some sort of debate. Either way it’ll be a good way for Ellana’s time to be preoccupied before Evelyn comes back with new updates for them.

And now about those  _blasted_  windows…

-


	100. Chapter 100

“Don’t be a baby, Malika holds up better than you do,” Herah chides as Maxwell grimaces. “It’s only  _four_  stitches.”

“That's four too many,” Maxwell complains, “It’s not that bad. I honestly don’t think it even needs any stitches.”

“Stitches?”

“It needs stitches,” Stitches replies dryly. “You’ve had worse, quit complaining.”

“I know I’ve had worse but I’d still like to complain anyway,” Maxwell huffs, “Besides, I wouldn’t be me if I wasn’t complaining. I’m a very vocal person.”

“That you are,” Stitches rolls his eyes, “I’m done. There. Like you said, four stitches. It doesn’t take that long. I’ll just wash it once more and wrap it and you’ll be on your way, off to do very loud things.”

“Malika had to get her arm set in the middle of a battlefield and she didn’t complain,” Herah says. “You get four stitches in our very nice infirmary at Skyhold and you talk the room to deafness.”

“Untrue, you can still hear me,” Maxwell retorts, frowning down at his leg. “This is going to be an annoyance, though. Leg stitches are always bothersome, even if it is just  _four_. I’ll be feeling it forever.”

“You’re not wrong,” Herah shrugs, “And maybe this will teach you to mess around with caltrops.”

“I  _wasn’t_  messing around with caltrops,” Maxwell protests, “I was messing around and caltrops happens to be in a similar area as I was. There’s a very clear distinction there, Adaar.”

“Right, sure. Whatever you tell yourself. You sure did look impressive for Pentaghast, though.”

Maxwell blanches and grimaces, “Please don’t.”

Herah claps a hand to his shoulder, “No. Really. I think you’re starting to grow on her. She didn’t look upset or enraged. You know how she can get when she sees people messing around and doing shit. You’ve  _heard_  her from the ramparts when she’s seen people pulling dumb stunts. She just looked worried for you. I don’t think she’s even going to lecture.”

Maxwell shakes his head, “I don’t know about that, Herah. She wouldn’t be herself if she wasn’t lecturing someone about stupid decisions.”

“And yet she hasn’t lectured  _you_  in a while.” Herah hums. “I think she’s starting to see you as more of an…equal? A prospect? You know. Instead of the loudmouth cousin of the Inquisitor.”

“Both are better than failed Templar, honestly,” Maxwell sighs and messes up his hair in frustration. “How come I never look…I don’t know.  _Passable_  in front of her? Maker, I just want to look  _decent_  for once.”

“You look plenty decent, Trevelyan,” Herah replies, “I mean. If you were a little taller I might consider you. If Josephine weren’t around and perfect.”

“Thanks, Adaar. You really know how to cheer a man up,” Maxwell lightly punches Herah’s arm. “Speaking of, how is it being around Josephine who’s always perfect?”

“Wonderful, Trevelyan,” Herah replies, “Better than being around you when you’re feeling sorry for yourself.”

-

“If it was so important - if it was something eating at him from the inside like this - how could he — “ Evelyn paces back and forth across her room. Her skin feels hot, like she’s going to pull some novice mistake like losing control of her mana and combusting. “This is so - “

“Secrets can kill,” Ellana says from where she’s sitting on the floor by the balcony door, calmly running her hands through her hair, “But the exposition of secrets can murder.”

“I don’t have the time or patience for your cryptic messages, Ellana,” Evelyn snaps. “One of our men is in jail waiting to be hanged in Val Royeux.”

“And?”

“And  _what_? He’s a murderer and a liar and we’ve killed people for doing less than he’s done,” Evelyn runs her hands through her hair, pulling just so she can vent some energy without setting something on fire. “What am I supposed to do here?”

“What do you  _want_  to do?” Ellana asks.

“Punch him in the face? I don’t know! I - he needs to atone for what he’s done. And - I - it’s just - “ Evelyn grabs a pillow off of her bed and screams into it.

“I take it things aren’t going any better up here,” Mahanon’s voice comes over from the stairwell.

“What’s going on downstairs?” Evelyn asks.

“Everyone has their own opinions of what should be done,” Mahanon replies, leaning against the stair bannister, mouth drawn downwards, “There’s no majority or consensus on what to do or think. Of course, the final decision is yours.”

Evelyn throws the pillow back on the bed so hard that it bounces right off the other side.

“Bloody ridiculous,” Evelyn snarls. “No wonder he didn’t know anything about the Wardens.  _Traveling recruiter_ , absolute bullshit nonsense. How the flaming hell did he get past all of us? An entire spy network, a former Ben Hassrath spy, and a people’s collective of information and not a single person here picked it up. Ludicrous. Ridiculous. Flaming  _shit nonsense_.”

“One person did,” Mahanon says softly.

Evelyn’s eyes snap to his and follow his sight across the room.

She feels the crackle of flames along her fingertips as she strides over to stand in front of Ellana fucking Lavellan.

“He didn’t smell of the Blight,” Ellana says, calmly looking up to meet Evelyn’s gaze. “He smelled like a regular man - not like a Warden. I knew.”

“From the very beginning.”

“Yes.”

Evelyn’s fists curl and she feels the heat in her palms, she can see the shift and change in light from the light trapped in her fists.

Ellana slowly stands up, calm and silent as winter trees and undisturbed lakes.

“Do you want excuses?” Ellana asks. “Will you ask me why?”

“I want your reasons,” Evelyn says slowly, wrangling her temper under her control, willing herself to calm and cool and  _listen_. “I want your reasons for defending this liar.”

“If I had exposed him what good would it have done?” Ellana says, “It was not my business. I did not know what he was running from. I didn’t care. Frankly, I still don’t. But me exposing him would have done nothing for either you or him. You would be down one talented fighter. He would be pushed further into despair. The Iron Bull was a soldier in a war against all of Thedas, a spy and a saboteur. Cullen Rutherford spoke out against mages and for a long time was quite wary and unfair to them. Edric and Malika Cadaash come from a life of crime and dangerous dealings. I don’t see this sort of censure against any of them - or the several dozens that make their homes in Skyhold and fly the Inquisition’s banner.”

“This isn’t about them. This is about  _him_. He lied to us - he - he did those awful things and he - “

“And he’s lived his life in shame and despair over his actions ever since,” Ellana replies calmly. “Why would he have trusted you in the beginning, Evelyn Trevelyan? We were all nothing to him. Just as he was nothing to us. Of course he lied. But we aren’t here to talk about that. Your current struggle is what to do next.”

“I don’t  _know_  what to do next!”

“Do you want him to hang?” Mahanon asks.

“No!” Evelyn turns to him, throwing her arms up in the air, “Of course I don’t want him to fucking  _hang_. But it’s not about what I want. It’s about - it’s about what he deserves. What he did. He’s a  _criminal_.”

“So are we. So are most of us here,” Mahanon replies. “Do you  _want him to hang_?”

“No! I said  _no_.”

“Then we get him out of the hangman’s noose for now. And then we consider our options,” Mahanon replies. “We buy some time. We think. And then we decide.”


	101. Chapter 101

“What do you mean,  _she’s escaped_?”  Mahanon hisses, “Escaped from bed rest?  _With a broken leg_?”

“Well, she’s not in the infirmary anymore,” Kaaras wrings his hands, “And you know how people like you are.”

“People like  _me_?”

“Dagger, dagger,” Sera says, miming stabbing someone from behind, “Shadows, assassinations, mystery. That stuff.”

“Your sister is a six foot tall Qunari woman with white hair and a broken leg and she’s somehow  _missing_  on Skyhold grounds,” Mahanon says slowly, “And no one’s  _seen a six foot tall Qunari woman with very long white hair and a broken leg_  hobble about?”

“Again, she’s like  _you_ ,” Sera says, “Dagger, dagger, espionage.”

Mahanon shoots Sera an incredulous look, “These are skills that  _you_  also have.”

“Sure, I just don’t use them as much as the rest of you,” Sera replies, “And not with the same amount of weird satisfaction.”

“Weird satisfact - “ Mahanon stops himself and shakes his head, “We have entire teams of scouts and patrol guards around Skyhold. Someone must have seen her.”

“Just like  _someone_  must see you or your sister whenever one of you two pulls a vanishing act?” Sera raises an eyebrow.

Kaaras just  _looks_  at Mahanon in that incredibly earnest and sweet way that Ellana always says means trouble for Mahanon because, as she says it, he’s  _a sucker for sweet doe eyes_. He’s not. He really isn’t. It’s just that Kaaras never asks him for help even when he should and sometimes when Kaaras looks just like that he look incredibly vulnerable and Mahanon has the powerful and profound need to do whatever he can to make Kaaras happy and assured and secure again.

“We also have mages here,” Mahanon points out, “And any number of tracking animals. Have you considered those options?”

“Again, dagger, dagger. She’s good at dodging things.”

“Why would she  _leave_  the infirmary to start with? Herah has always struck me as a more sensible type,” Mahanon says, exasperated.

“She willingly teams up with Maxwell, Ellana, and Malika,” Sera says, “How is that sensible?”

“That’s unfair,” Kaaras says, “They’re a good team.”

“But we’re the superior team,” Mahanon says, twisting his braid up at the back of his head and pinning it in place with the hair pin he’d nicked from Evelyn’s room. “Alright, I’ll start looking. Come on, the two of you are helping me. I’ll find her but if she doesn’t want to go back to the infirmary - for  _whatever reason, I can’t even begin to imagine_  - it’s up to the two of you to get her back there. My job is over once I find her.”

-

“We can’t invite her to the wedding, our mother hates her,” Maxwell says, popping a grape into his mouth as he skims over the Evelyn’s invitation list.

“So? Your mother hates everyone and is an absolute  _hag_ ,” Evelyn replies, “I should invite the Earl and his second wife on the principle of that alone.”

“If you invite her and  _don’t_  invite my mother - which I’m hoping you won’t?”

“I won’t.”

“Excellent. But if you invite the Earl and Countess she’s going to find out about it and she’s going tosend me a letter so thick it’s going to take  _three birds_  to carry it in installments. Or worse, she’ll send a messenger to come here, announce themselves, and  _read the thing_  out loud so I can’t burn it.”

“Technically,” Herah says from where she’s helping Josephine by holding up fabric scraps to compare, “You could stop that by burning the messenger.”

“ _Herah_ ,” Josephine admonishes, and Herah smiles down at the woman.

“It’s a light joke, Josephine,” Herah says, “I mean, we’ve all thought it at one point or another.”

“We can’t invite her,” Maxwell says, “You don’t even  _like_  her to start with, so I don’t know why she’d be on this list which is meant for - supposedly - incredibly close friends and family.”

“Her  _husband_  is a strong supporter of the Inquisition, that’s why, and I’m assuming she’s his plus one. I’m not going to tell him not to bring his wife to my wedding,” Evelyn says, “Suck it up, Max.”

“Is Cullen’s list ready yet?” Herah asks.

“Cullen’s list is mixed in with my list. He doesn’t have as many people to invite, considering most of them are going to be present by default,” Evelyn says.

“So you’re going to be meeting the in-laws,” Maxwell hums, grinning, “Nervous, cousin?”

“I’ve met them before.”

“Not  _all_  of them,” Herah points out, “You only met Mia and her husband and their kids that one time. And that was when the world was ending.”

“Technically, it still is ending,” Maxwell points out.

“Not before this wedding,” Josephine says.

“It wouldn’t dare, Josephine,” Maxwell replies. “Anyway, this is just your tentative list, right?”

“Yes,” Evelyn says, “I just need to whittle it down to under two hundred.”

“Anything anyone can say to get it under one hundred?”

“I’ll disinvite you and get it to one hundred exactly if I try hard enough,” Evelyn says. “The Earl and Countess are staying on the list. Keep going. We’ve made great progress already. Josephine, how are things going?”

“The texture on this is nice,” Josephine says, indicating a square of cream colored fabric pinned to Herah’s shoulder. “But look at the light on it as she turns. It isn’t as nice. But there’s this one, here, too, and this one moves so well in the light but it seems like  _too much_. And then there’s this one right here that I think would be wonderful for our soldiers to use as a dress uniform for the day but it’s not practical at all.”

“Practical? At a wedding? Perish the thought,” Maxwell teases. “Hm. I do like that second swatch, though. Accent piece perhaps?”

Maxwell stands up to join Josephine as they arrange fabric swatches on Herah.

“Maxwell, what about the guest list?”

“Give it to Mahanon and the Iron Bull and let them be ruthless about it,” Maxwell waves his hand, “Neither of them have any real political bias and they’re very astute. Also between the two of them they know the secret dealings of everyone of note in the continent. I’ll check the list after they do and we’ll be fine.”


	102. Chapter 102

“What a thing to say, and on my name day no less,” Herah says.

“Just saying it as I see it, Adaar. And it isn’t your name day. Nice try, I guess,” Sera replies. “Oy, death from above. Anything?”

Mahanon, predictably, does not respond to Sera.

“Nice job getting us out of that pinch, by the way,” Herah says to Edric as he double checks the seals on his potion bottles. “I didn’t know you were that much of a fast talker. Impressive.”

“I could've done better,” Sera mutters.

“This is the problem when too many people like us get together,” Edric says, waving his hand at Sera and Herah, and then vaguely up towards where they last saw Mahanon before he disappeared in earnest into the darkened forest branches. “We all start this pissing contest for who can be sneakiest and who’s most clever and then it goes shitty.”

“I wouldn’t say that,” Herah says, “I think we all know our place. And it wasn’t  _shitty_. I mean. We aren’t in  _jail_.”

“That would’ve been fun explaining to Evelyn,” Sera muses.

“As if a  _jail_  could hold any fo us,” Mahanon sneers, climbing down at last and jumping off the lowest branch to land in a light crouch, “The patrols are off. Agitated by the rumors Sera’s Jennies have spread, most like. The timing is irregular and they all look ready to start stabbing their own shadows.”

“Excellent,” Herah says, “So attention is focused at this garrison. Edric, you got a good look at the layout of the place when you were bailing us out, right?”

“Right,” Edric says, “And if the buildings are built the same I think we’ll be good. There can’t be that much variance in the layout. Fereldans aren’t that creative when it comes to architecture. Square block, square block, rectangle block, square block. So, what’d your people say, Sera?”

“They’ve been spreading rumors about someone a lot like grim brooder over here,” Sera jerks her thumb at Mahanon as he rolls his eyes, “I figure he’ll be a good distraction. It’s not like any of those sorry louts are going to be able to even get within a hundred paces of him, let alone  _catch_  him. Herah’s got charisma so she can cover the two of us as we go in and steal the record books and replace it with the forged one. Or you can keep watch. Whichever. I’d stay behind but I’m the best lock pick between the three of us and that’s not up for contest. We good?”

“We’re good. Mahanon, you go in. We’ll rendezvous on the other side of the city, by the tanner’s.”

Mahanon nods, draws his hood up and jogs off through the trees back towards the city.

“Sera, let us know once he’s in,” Herah says. “We’ll see how much noise Mahanon can make for us.”

“Have you met the guy?” Sera says. “He’s annoying, he’ll have the entire city awake and caterwauling.”

“Right,” Edric says, “Herah, you and Sera go in. You’ve got charisma but you’re also a white haired Qunari woman. Sorry.”

Herah shrugs, holding out her hand to take the thin, leather bound book of fake accounts and notes, “I’m used to it. After this you’re going to have to tell me how you pulled that trick you did earlier. For someone who’s always looking ready to break down with a bottle you run a smooth, smooth gambit.”

“I’m  _Carta_ ,” Edric says, “I don’t know why you kids keep forgetting that. I didn’t survive this long on dread and listlessness.”

-

“Really?  _Really_? You’re taking his side? You’re taking his side against  _me_?” Evelyn gapes, looking between Mahanon and Maxwell. Maxwell looks as dumbfounded as Evelyn feels and Mahanon looks like he’s swallowed an entire bottle of Hirol’s Lava Burst. Glass and all.

“In this… _specific_  matter his idea is more sound than yours,” Mahanon says, the words dragging themselves out of him with a lot of reluctance and resistance.

“Say it,” Maxwell whispers, eyes wide, “Say it for me. Say the words, Lavellan.  _Say them_.”

Mahanon’s scowl is practically etched into his face.

“I… _agree with Maxwell_ ,” Mahanon grinds out and Mahanon puts a hand to his mouth and gasps quietly. He’s tearing up.

Evelyn glares at him.

“Can we get back to the matter at hand? Namely, the issue of what to do with the person who threw  _goats_  at Skyhold?” Mahanon asks. “Stop looking at me, Maxwell Trevelyan.”

Maxwell immediately looks at Evelyn instead.

“So he agrees with me. That’s me, your cousin, and him, your best friend, both saying that your idea is a terrible idea. There are so many uses for Movran. Why banish him? He could come back, he could cause trouble for our operatives, he could decide to - for whatever reason - work with the Venatori.  _Use him_.”

“For  _what_? The idea of  _arming_  one of the people who willingly came towards us with intent to harm and just sending them on their way is ridiculous,” Evelyn says.

“Is it?” Mahanon raises an eyebrow, “Put a sword in his hand and point him at Tevinter. It’s simple. Movran’s sort dislikes Tevinter just as much as the rest of us. And with any luck he’ll get killed there. No blood on any of our hands.”

“It’s very neat and ties things together quite nicely,” Maxwell remarks, “Consider that in comparison to just…sending him off bitter.”

“There’s also the other option of humiliation but again that does no one any good,” Mahanon says. “Just give him something pointy and get him out of Skyhold. It doesn’t even have to be a good quality weapon. And how would Tevinter even retaliate? There’s no proof that  _we_  set it up.”

“The fact that the two of you are agreeing against me somehow feels very wrong and I want to ignore you both just for the hell of it,” Evelyn says. “Yes, I know that’s a stupid basis for doing something. And I won’t. But still. Seriously?  _Now of all times, you two are teaming up?”_


	103. Chapter 103

“Are you actually fucking with me right now?” Evelyn asks. Her voice feels very quiet. And very far away.

Maybe it’s because of the wind that always howls through the jagged cliffs of the Storm Coast. Maybe it’s because her ears are hyper focused on trying to pick up the sounds of the Chargers and the Venatori across the beaches. Maybe it’s because of the constant crash of heavy, heavy waves on the furious shore and the thunder that always goes with it. Maybe it’s all of those things.

Maybe it’s the pounding of her heart in her palms, hot and light and dangerous. Maybe it’s the sound of her own breath in her lungs crackling and drying as heat swells from inside of her bones.

Maybe it’s all of these things and the absolute white-hot ringing silence between her ears, magnified and amplified thousands of times over with every sliver of time that falls forward as the Iron Bull stands and  _does nothing_.

“Are you literally  _fucking_  with me right now? This -  _this_  where you lose your goddamn composure?” Evelyn’s hands slowly close as the world squeezes into a single frame of the Iron Bull, Gatt, and herself standing in ankle-deep sea-wet grass with salt on her lips and the threat of fire in her palms. “ _Bull_. Call them back. They’re going to be killed.”

“That’s the point,” Gatt says.

Evelyn’s cuts him out of her focus. Otherwise she’ll do something stupid.

Like turn him into a charred wreck of coal. Like the bodies at the Temple of Sacred Ashes. Truly ash, now.

“They’re mercs,” Bull says. He doesn’t even sound like he believes himself. Maker’s fucking  _balls_. “They know what they’ve signed up for. It’s part of the job.”

“No,” Evelyn says, “It isn’t. It isn’t part of  _this_  specific job, because I never said I’d exchange  _my Chargers_  for  _your Qun_.”

“Your Chargers?” Bull asks, turning to her, baffled.

“ _My_  Chargers,” Evelyn snarls. “Mine. I employ them. I bought them. They’re  _mine_. Not the Qun’s. And if you aren’t going to do the right and sensible and  _true thing_ , then you don’t deserve them. I don’t care if it’s your name in front of the rest,  _they’re still the rest_.”

Evelyn tastes smoke and heat and the metallic spark of magic at the back of her teeth.

“If I had been informed that the Chargers and the Qun would be mutually exclusive I wouldn’t have agreed to this,” Evelyn says. “Blow the retreat.”

There is no ultimatum to give, because Evelyn doesn’t have one.

Or what?

Evelyn feels the Anchor like a mouth, like a biting snarling promise, in the heat of her hand.

Or that, maybe.

It wouldn’t even be a bluff.

“You don’t want an enemy in the Qun,” Bull tells her, but his hand has gone to the horn at his waist.

“Don’t do it Hissrad,” Gatt urges.

Evelyn’s eyes flick to him and she snarls, “You don’t talk to my man.”

Evelyn is not a spy or some sort of saboteur or anything as insidious or dangerous as that. But she is the Inquisitor of Thedas. She has judged men and women alike and she has commanded people to die and she has commanded people to live and she has commanded suffering and forgiveness in equal measure.

So when Evelyn tells Gatt not to speak to the Iron Bull, she dares him not to listen to her. She dares him to find out what will happen.

“I don’t care about the Qun.  _You don’t want to make an enemy of me_ ,” Evelyn replies. “Do it. Now.”

The Iron Bull has watched her grow in power and in skill. And he knows the people at her side. Even if she weren’t Inquisitor. She commands the respect and loyalty of very dangerous, powerful, and challenging people.

He raises the hollow instrument to his lips, and chooses correctly.

-

“For once,” Ellana says, voice rough and torn and ragged, “ _Just once. Please._  Focus on your life instead of mine.”

Mahanon stares at her, dumbfounded as Ellana curls up - still covered in the dirt and filth that was on her when she was still a bear.

“I can’t do this to you,” Ellana rasps out, “You can’t keep  _letting_  me do this to you.”

“I let no one do anything to me. You came back.”

“No. I was forced back,” Ellana glares at him through the her thick, matted hair. “And what about next time? And the time after that? You cannot bet on miracles.”

“But you did. You came back,” Mahanon says, slowly going towards her, lowering himself onto his knees in front of her, “You are my sister in ever way that matters. I cannot leave you.”

“You are my brother. How do you think it feels on this side?” Ellana snarls. “I could have killed you.”

“And you did not.”

“ _How lucky_.”

Mahanon closes his hand around her ankle. What a gift, to have her person-shaped again.

“He brought you back.”

Ellana pulls at her own hair and snarls, shaking her head.

“They all helped, but it was him who brought you back,” Mahanon says.

“Don’t shift the burden of me onto someone else,” Ellana says, “Just leave me. Next time, just  _leave me_.”

“Never,” Mahanon spits, “We did not choose this but I will choose you.  _I will not leave you_.”

“You are a fool, there are other people who need you,” Ellana snaps. “There are people you must be with.”

“And I would not be the man they need if I were to abandon my own sister,” Mahanon replies. “You have hurt me. You will continue to hurt me. As I have hurt you, and continue to hurt you. But I love you, nonetheless. I miss you. I mourn you. And I dream for you. I stay for you.”

Ellana shakes her head but she holds out her hand and Mahanon takes it, closing his eyes and grounding himself in the feeling of her palm against his.

Let the world call him a fool for staying, but what would he be if he abandoned his family?


	104. Chapter 104

“I had a terrible dream,” Ellana whispers, sliding over the bed and curling her arms around Mahanon’s waist, burying her nose in his hair. Mahanon’s hand flattens over one of hers, pressing her palm to his heartbeat as he slows his breathing. Calming himself for her. It’s fortunate for her that Kaaras is out. She didn’t have any idea of how she would get Mahanon alone otherwise.

“Hm?” Mahanon hums through his lips. “Bull?”

Not this time, not exactly. Ellana shakes her head.

Mahanon’s head turns a little, “Is he alright?”

He’s still in the room she left him in. He woke up, of course. But she told him she’d be coming to Mahanon’s and he went back to sleep.

Mahanon squeezes her hand.

“What was it?”

“I dreamed Solas came back,” Ellana whispers, “And there was no Sky. Just dark, brackish green. The earth shivered and undulated. Like waves. Trees curled and cracked. Mountains shivered and blackened and turned to gold. And the grass turned silver-white. The clouds were pink and purple.”

“It sounds fantastical. What frightened you?”

Ellana breathes in long and deep. The worst part about being a mage is that you have a sharp, sharp sense for pulling your dreams back to you.

“Solas was there. You were there. Sera was there. Dalish and Skinner were there. Voth was there.  _No one else was there_.”

Mahanon’s body grows rigid.

Ellana feels her chest close.

“His hands, his palms both hand Anchors on them. Glowing. And I turned around looking for everyone else but I saw Skyhold. And it was -  _it was so wrong_. It was made of glass and it had these…these pulsing  _veins_. And when I looked closer and focused I could see the veins that stretched through the castle ended with  _people_. And I turned away because - because - “

Because she saw the Iron Bull’s distinct shape in the room that she left him in, standing like he was about to open the door and she saw a one armed figure at the top of a tower, turned as if talking to another, and she saw a figure with Herah’s distinct horns, near what would have been the training ring standing against a figure that looked like it would be holding a sword and shield around Maxwell’s height and she saw -

In dream logic it doesn’t matter how she saw all of this from so far away so clearly.

But she saw it. She saw them. She saw her family and Ellana slowly started to run to them, for them.

But Skyhold  _shuddered_  and Ellana screamed as the glass seemed to cave on itself, and all of those veins of people melted away from the shapes she had loved and Skyhold arranged itself into something new and stranger as it stood up on four legs with its red veins and its red red eyes and shook its haunches and howled to the murky sky.

“I turned back because I couldn’t watch anymore and I looked at him and he  _smiled_  and he said -  _he said_ \- “

“What did he say, Ellana?”

“ _How could I abandon my children_?” Ellana chokes out and Mahanon’s hand is a tight and furious fist around hers as she curls into his back and pushes the white terror down. “Mahanon, I reached for you and I was so frightened and you were reaching for me and we were all reaching for each other. And then I noticed my hands - my body - I was wearing what he was wearing, we were  _all_  wearing things like he was wearing and your  _vallaslin_  were gone and so were Dalish’s and Voth’s and I was so frightened. And then the earth shattered and bucked us off like foam and you fell into the sky and I lost you.”

“I have not fallen into the sky,” Mahanon says, “That bastard has not done anything we can’t reverse, Skyhold remains  _ours_ , and  _we were never his children_.”

“I know,” Ellana says. “I know that  _now_ , here, when I’m awake. But that dream - it was so awful, Mahanon. It was absolutely wretched and I just - “

“I know,” Mahanon whispers, rolling over and pulling her into a hug. “He hurt us all.”

Ellana didn’t even  _talk_  to Solas that much. She never really talked to  _anyone_  much. But still…

“It was a dream,” Mahanon says finally. “You have had terrible dreams before. You know how to fight them. You know how to make them  _yours_  again.”

Ellana nods.

“The Iron Bull also knows dreams,” Mahanon muses, “I imagine he would have some very creative ways to turn this one back into your favor.”

Ellana laughs. “You just want your bed free for when Kaaras and Dorian come back.”

“That I do,” Mahanon says, “But that won’t be tonight. So I suppose I can allow you to stay.”

“Very kind of you.”

-

“Alright, listen. We cannot, we absolutely,  _cannot_  do this,” Cullen says. “Technically, I am your superior officer and that holds me accountable for things like this. So -  _whatever_  it is you were about to say.  _Do not say it_. Just… _do or do not do it_  without telling me.”

“I don’t know if you’re becoming a better person or a worse person the longer you work here, but I like it,” Herah says, grinning, “Is this blanket permission?”

“Permission? For what?” Cullen says, eyebrow raising, “I’m simply saying… _I don’t want to talk to you_. You haven’t asked me for anything. I haven’t responded with anything.”

“This has to be Leliana’s influence,” Herah muses. “Well. Nice not talking to you then, Commander.”

“And whatever it is I don’t want to talk about, I don’t want to hear it  _directly_  outside my doors,” Cullen says. “Have this discussion somewhere I won’t know about.”

“Yessir,” Herah lazily salutes. “Anyway. On an entirely different topic that you may want to know about - “

“Are you sure about that?”

“Absolutely.”

“Go on.”

Herah grins and leans forward, resting her arm on his desk -  not even twitching when it rocks and creaks onto one side. Cullen sighs. Sera stole the wood block he had been using to keep it level again, most like.

“I stole Varric’s mail.”

“Are you  _certain_  I want to hear about this?”

“You’ll regret not hearing about it more if I don’t tell you now. Guess who’s coming in for a visit?”

Cullen steeples his fingers and meets Herah’s gaze dead on.

“Adaar.”

“Isabela.” Herah says. “Isabela is coming to visit. She’s going to be talking trade with Josephine and Evelyn, but she’s going to be here for an entire month or so and it will be  _glorious_.”


	105. Chapter 105

“It’s just a broken nose,” Malika says. It’s probably meant to be comforting.

“Frankly, the mere  _concept_  that you haven’t been punched in the face before or had your nose broken somehow before  _now_  is what’s really upsetting here,” Herah says, steadying hand on Maxwell’s shoulder as she examines the break. “I’ve gotten my nose broken four times and I’m pretty sure I’m overall nicer than you.”

“Twice,” Malika says, raising her hand, “Both weren’t on purpose, though. Max, are you crying?”

“My good looks,” Maxwell’s eyes water, “Can you save them? They’re pretty much all I have going for me, Herah. Without this I’m  _nothing_ , I tell you.  _Nothing_.”

“Untrue,” Malika says.

“At least you’re honest with yourself,” Herah says.

Ellana thumps Herah’s back and looks very disappointed in her.

“Careful!” Herah says, “What if I made it worse?”

Ellana lets out a loud breath through her nose and thrusts her hand out at Maxwell. He seizes it immediately.

“It won’t hurt, I mean. It won’t hurt more than when it originally broke,” Malika says, patting Maxwell’s knee. “And look! You’ve got a great place and a great person to set it. A nice view, a very calming, relaxing atmosphere. And Herah. I mean. It’s Herah. There’s no one you can trust with your face more, right Ellana?”

Ellana squeezes Maxwell’s hand so hard that there’s an audible creak of bone.

Maxwell whimpers.

“Alright, I’m going to set it,” Herah says calmly. “It’s going to be fine, you’re just a dramatic baby. There’s worse than a broken nose. I mean, mine healed pretty good. I think the third and fourth break actually put it back in place. Who knows? If it heals a little crooked it might add a little extra. And there’s also the chance that it won’t heal crooked. Which is the greater chance because you’re all underestimating me by  _a lot_. I’ve been with Tal-Vashoth mercs for almost my entire life.”

Maxwell’s eyes are terrifyingly wet.

Malika makes shushing noises at him, “Focus on the rushing water from the stream. The wind in the trees. The sunlight. The ambient sounds of giants far, far away from us.”

Not that far away. Maxwell’s sitting on an rock one of them threw at them about thirty minutes ago.

Ellana makes very good bird sounds while crushing his hand.

Maxwell nods his head, “Do it, Herah.”

It’s over in literally  _seconds_  and Maxwell’s eyes are squeezed closed as he clenches Ellana’s hand.

“Am I beautiful again?”

Herah rolls her eyes and stands up, “If it means we can get going to wherever this thing is Malika is looking for? Sure. You’re beautiful again. Malika, take point. I’m going stealth. Ellana, stick with Maxwell.”

“Shouldn’t you be saying Maxwell stick with Ellana?”

“If I did I’d have said it. Let’s go. I want to head back to camp before sun down.”

-

“I don’t think I’ve ever seen you nervous,” Kaaras says as he watches Herah pace back and forth across his room. Herah had come in, Mahanon had taken one look at her and jumped out the window after giving Kaaras a quick kiss.

That man’s ability to sense a  _situation_  is uncanny.

It’s amazing how he even ended up  _here_ , actually. Kaaras thought he would have sensed the Conclave going wrong about half a continent away and called his mission off.

“How could I not be nervous? You’d be nervous if you met Dorian’s parents.”

“One, I don’t think I’ll ever meet Dorian’s parents,” Kaaras says slowly, ticking off on his fingers, “Two, I don’t think Dorian would ever  _want_  me to meet his parents. Three, I’m always nervous about something anyway. I don’t think you’ve ever been nervous in your life.”

“That’s untrue,” Herah says, biting her thumb, “I’m a former mercenary, a Qunari Tal-Vashoth, and  _I’ve got horns_. Fuck me. There’s absolutely no fucking way this is going to go well. I mean -  _look at me_. How can I match up to Josephine?”

“Yvette likes you plenty. And Josephine is nice. Her parents are probably very nice,” Kaaras points out. “She’s got the best family relationship out of everyone here. Better than Malika’s even, and Malika has a very nice, solid, happy family.”

“But they’re  _human nobles_ ,” Herah moans.

“Human nobles love you,” Kaaras says, “They always ask for you when they visit Skyhold. You’re one of their favorite people. You’re like Ellana. People just  _like you_. No one’s sure  _why_. But they do.”

“I’m likeable,” Herah glares. “I’ve got charm bursting out of my ears.”

“Then why are you panicking?”

“Because these are the parents and siblings and uncles and aunts and cousins and grandparents and grand aunts and uncles of  _the woman I love_  and I actually don’t really understand what any of those words mean because  _I was raised under the Qun_.”

“You know what a little brother is,” Kaaras points out softly. Herah stops pacing and turns a warm look onto him.

“Yeah. I do know that much.” Herah smiles. “And what a better world I came to for it.”

“You’ve met her sister and Yvette likes you fine, I think that’s a pretty good measure for the rest,” Kaaras says.

“But I was just - when she met me I was just this person that her sister  _liked_. Now - “

“You’re still a person her sister likes. What?”

“Now.” Herah bites her lip. “Now I’m the person who’s going to ask for her hand in marriage.”

Kaaras’ eyes widen.

“What?”

“I’m going to ask her to marry me,” Herah says, voice soft and nervous, “I. I  _love her_. And I know marriage is something she’s always dreamed of and again  _Qun_ , I don’t - I don’t understand it but I know it’s important for her and I want her to have it, I want her to have everything she’s ever wanted and I don’t want her to suffer any lack because of me.  _I want to marry her and make her the happiest woman to breathe_.”


	106. Chapter 106

“So. The Fade.”

“Yes, the Iron Bull, what of it?” Solas asks, already somewhat dreading where this conversation is going based off of the fact that it’s  _the Iron Bull_  who’s starting it.

“You dream about it,” Bull says, “And you…talk to  _things_.”

“Spirits.”

“Right,” Bull muses, arms crossed behind his head, “So. You talk to  _spirits._ A lot.”

“Yes.”

“And…these spirts are good…conversationalists?”

“Better than current company, I find.”

Bull barks out a jarring laugh that makes Solas grind his teeth.

“Is there a point to this line of questioning? Perhaps something about demons and corruption and the like?”

“What? Nah,” Bull says, “You do you, I guess. I mean. It’s weird. And a little unnerving. But it hasn’t hurt us yet. So for now I’m alright with it. Them. You. That’s not what I’m getting out.”

“What  _are_  you getting at then?” Solas asks.

“Your spirit friends,” Bull says, slow like he’s rolling the words around his palms, like smooth stones, like marbles, like coins, “Are they comparable to people?”

“Define  _people.”_

 _“_ He wants to know if there are any attractive Fade spirit ladies or lads who’ve caught your eye, Solas,” Maxwell says, laughing from behind them, “I never knew you to be tactful about anything, Bull. You’re terrible at it.”

“Well if I said it flat out he’d clam up, wouldn’t he?” Bull says, grinning, “But since you said it - any hot Fade spirits, Solas?”

“Nice  _dreams_  you’ve been having?” Maxwell asks, falling into pace with them on Solas’ other side.

Solas is bracketed by two very annoying, frustrating, and tenacious  _fools_  and there’s no way for him to get out of this. Solas makes a mental note not to ever get set up with this particular team of sorts again. No matter what the argument for this arrangement is. No matter what sort of tactical advantage or what not.

“You are disgusting,” Solas says, “We converse and we learn from each other and that is all.”

“Is it really?” Maxwell muses, “Come on, Solas. No harm in speaking more. You are among friends. Surely there must have been one or another who would have caught your eye. You spend so much time there after all. A bond must have formed between you and a certain special….someone.”

“Enough. I will not entertain any m ore of this nonsense. Focus. Are we not meant to be doing something? Supposedly important to our cause?”

“That’s right, leave the man alone. Sorry to break up your manly bonding and such but I’ve spotted some potential rifts up ahead. Maxwell, we need your templar training to secure the perimeter. Bull back Maxwell up.”

Maxwell gives Herah a somewhat jaunty salute and Bull shrugs his shoulders, following after Maxwell as they go off in the direction Herah sent them towards.

“My thanks for your timing, Lieutenant,” Solas says. And then - “Is there an actual rift ahead?” Solas asks once he’s sure the other two are relatively out of range.

“Yup,” Herah replies. “I wouldn’t have interrupted something so entertaining if it wasn’t something we really needed to address.”

“Then I suppose in a very round about way I must thank the rift for being so fortuitous in its placement.”

Herah laughs and gestures for him to follow, “Let’s circle around this way, come on.”

Solas follows after her as they curve their way towards the outer edge of what must be the rift’s circle of influence. Solas can start to sense it now that they’re drawing closer, the distortion in reality that blends the Fade into the material plane.

“So. Now that it’s just the two of us,” Herah says, “ _Were_  there any hot Fade spirits?

-

“So Solas just  _knew_  about this castle?” Mahanon asks, eyes narrowed as he nudges some rubble aside with his boot, looking over the weathered stone with suspicion.

“You don’t trust him? There’s a surprise,” Sera says as she susses out the integrity of some stairs. She bends down and marks the stone with chalk, “Nope. Need some scaffolding on this one. Wouldn’t trust someone with clumsy feet here. Can you imagine Kaaras or one of the other big guys on this?”

“He finds these pieces of lost knowledge in dreams,” Mahanon replies, “And how did he come upon this knowledge of dream walking? How did he train it? Of course, with his age he has hidden wisdom and knowledge and it is not outside of the realm of impossible. But it is also suspicious. How come no one else has had this sort of understanding? Why is it that no one else has ever dreamed and learned through the Fade in such a way? Not just elf, but human and Qunari. Where are the others who have learned and traveled through the memories of places such as he?”

Mahanon frowns as he runs his hand along a wall to inspect for any sort of hidden traps or flaws.

“There are mages who have power over dreams, yes, but not a single one has ever claimed such knowledge as he. And now how fortuitous for us that he just  _happens_  to know of Skyhold, hidden like a stolen thing in the middle of the mountains not far from Haven.”

“Strange, I thought your sort were all close.”

“My sort?”

“Dalish. Woods-y stuff. Mystical and ancient secluded people.”

“Solas is not Dalish, which he has made a point of emphasizing many times,” Mahanon replies. “And even if he was, I still would have my suspicions. Just because someone is Dalish doesn’t mean they have my complete and automatic trust. That would be most unwise.”

Mahanon glances over in time to see Sera press her lips together and roll her eyes.

“You think otherwise?” Mahanon asks. Mahanon straights up and waits for her answer. “Ah, you think Dalish in general are unwise. Forget I spoke, then. Let’s move on.”

“I didn't say anything.”

“Your face said it all. I don’t care. I have nothing to prove or defend to you, nor you to me. Think what you want, it has no impact on me. I didn’t bring the topic up to discuss the perceived and actual faults of my culture or your ideas of my culture. What are your thoughts on Solas?”


	107. Chapter 107

Evelyn can certainly see the family resemblance. Mia and Cullen both have the same blonde hair, warm eyes, and light complexion. Mia’s mouth is a little thinner and her brows a little stronger, and she’s got a fine and arrangement of freckles over her strong cheeks and nose. Cullen is of course broader and taller, and his skin has more of a flush to it - Evelyn wonders if it’s because he’s flustered or generally more prone to such a thing, but it’s very fine on him either way - and looks overall more worn and ragged than his sister does. But it’s to be expected of the Commander of the military arm of the Inquisition and it does nothing to diminish his overall appearance.

Evelyn might be biased.

“And you must be Evelyn,” Mia says, giving Evelyn a quick look over and nodding brusquely before extending her hand, “Mia Rutherford.”

“You’re infamous,” Evelyn says, “I think all of our carriers know your hand by now. They skip our message sorting and go straight to him wherever he is, lest they delay the important news.”

Mia’s laughs, and her grip is strong and steady though cold.

“Maker, Cullen, we have  _walls_  and fires and all sorts of places for conversation,” Evelyn says, “What are doing out here? Let’s take this inside, shall we?”

“We were just inside,” Cullen says, but Evelyn and Mia are already walking back towards Cullen’s office.

On Evelyn’s way here she had seen a lot of their friends lingering about and looking quite excited. There is, without a doubt, some sort of bet going on about something. Evelyn was much more preoccupied with making a speedy entrance to do her best and make a better showing than  _fainting on the bridge_  and didn’t have time to pay attention.

“Cullen was just showing me the grounds from up here,” Mia says, “Spectacular view. I imagine it looks quite charming at sunrise. Colder than the Maker’s tit, though.”

Evelyn can’t help but laugh. She’s never heard  _that_  one out of Cullen’s mouth. Must be the Chantry boy in him.

“You aren’t wrong,” Evelyn says, opening the door for Mia - who, if she recalls correctly from the latest letter she’d read from Cullen’s pile of unanswered letters, had just given birth perhaps six or seven months ago - to look upon an incredibly domestic scene.

Kaaras is sitting in one of the visitor’s chairs Blackwall had helped refurbish - it was here when they found Skyhold, it’s a miracle of its own that it didn’t collapse at the first touch into dust - and is holding a bundle in his arms. The baby, of course, but in Kaaras’ large arms and hands the thickly swaddled babe looks like a loaf of bread.

Ellana is standing next to Kaaras, cooing at the baby, face pink with excitement, looking much happier and energetic than she has in weeks.

A small chubby fist waves itself and Ellana catches it and deftly tucks it back in.

There are two more children - a boy and a girl -  peppering Kaaras with questions that immediately silence when Evelyn walks into the room.

“You’re  _her_ ,” the boy says, eyes wide. He’s missing a front tooth and it gives him an awfully cute lisp when he continues, “The  _Inquisitor_.”

The girl looks like she might faint or  _scream_  with excitement.

“Hello,” Evelyn says, waving - not the hand with the Anchor, Andraste she knows better than to do that - and the girl starts jumping up and down, hands clasped together as she goes bright, bright red and beams. “I’m Evelyn, and what are your names?”

The boy rushes up to her and thrusts out his hand, “I’m Jason and Uncle Cullen writes about you  _all the time_  and - “

Cullen quickly intercepts, stepping around Evelyn and clamping a hand over Jason’s mouth, “And Jason is Mia’s middle child, he’s a handful, and he’s also a chatterbox.”

“I don’t know how you’d know that seeing as you’ve never met him before,” Mia mutters, “But you’re not wrong.”

Jason twists around in Cullen’s grip and throws his arms around Cullen’s waist, “ _You’re a real templar_.”

Cullen’s expression twists in that familiar heart-wrenching way as he places his hands on Jason’s shoulders and nods, “That I am. I’m glad to finally meet you, Jason.”

“I’m Marie,” The girl says - she has light brown hair done into braids, the tips of which are curling and bouncing as she jumps. “You’re the Inquisitor and you’re  _so pretty_  and you’ve fought  _dragons_ and you’ve gone to balls and you’ve rode a horse into battle and  _I want to be like you when I grow up!”_

Evelyn’s face flushes.

“And this is our little brother Stanton,” Marie says, pointing at the baby in Kaaras’ arms.

Ellana, Evelyn, and Kaaras immediately look straight at Cullen who’s making a production of focusing on James’ enthusiastic narrative of how they travelled to Skyhold to meet him.

“Stanton?” Kaaras repeats slowly, eyes going between the baby and Cullen, “Like…Cullen Stanton?”

“That’s when we thought he was dead,” Mia says, “Right after the Conclave. Mind you, we also thought he was dead right after Kirkwall. And also during the Blight. I’m sure I’m missing at least one or two events in between, but we had thought he was dead because they said no one survived the Conclave and then  _lo and behold_ , a month later I get a letter. No. Wait. A letter is being too generous. It would be a post script if it were attached to any script at all.  _At Haven, marching soon.”_

 _“_ I knew you were bad, Cullen, but I didn’t realize  _how bad_ ,” Evelyn says, walking over to examine the baby. “He’s got your curls. Let’s hope he doesn’t get your tongue-tied bashfulness.”

Thought it can be incredibly charming.

“Oh no, the lungs on this one?” Mia laughs, “I can assure you that is something he didn’t get. I hope your walls can dampen sounds, Lady Trevelyan, otherwise we’ll all be in for a very, very early wake up call.”


	108. Chapter 108

“Why, specifically, are you looking for a white wyvern?” Mahanon asks, “The plains have wyverns aplenty, why do you want an albino one?”

“I don’t want a wyvern,” Evelyn says. She figures that they’re into it enough that none of them are going to turn around and abandon her in the middle of a wyvern riddled wetland. “ _Vivienne_  wants the heart of a white scaled wyvern.”

“ _Why_?” Sera asks.

Mahanon gives Evelyn a very slow and irritated look over his shoulder as he pointedly straightens up out of his crouch where he was inspecting claw marks. Ellana and Dorian pause mid-conversation - Dorian, going on at length about the travesty that’s Skyhold’s lack of new research materials and how he has to share with Solas, Kaaras, Vivienne, and Evelyn, while Ellana nods sympathetically and pretends like she isn’t trying to catch a particularly persistent fly that’s been buzzing around Dorian and Mahanon.

Dorian looks affronted and Ellana looks confused.

The Iron Bull doesn’t say or do anything which is somehow much more pointed despite being a non-reaction.

“I don’t know why, something about her research I imagine,” Evelyn says.

“You didn’t ask why.” Mahanon crosses his arms.

“No,” Evelyn says, “I did not.”

“Why didn’t you ask  _why_?” Sera asks.

“Because she asked for a favor and considering how many she’s done for the Inquisition and myself personally I decided not to pursue the topic any further other than to say that I’d help her.”

“I’m out,” Sera says, turning around and walking back in the direction they’d come from. Sera unstrings her bow and puts it on her back as she splashes her way towards the drier land.

“Evelyn, I am beyond disappointed in you,” Dorian says, “You didn’t ask her  _why_? There are a dozen different reasons why that is incredibly short-sighted of you. And there are a dozen reasons why you should know better than to not ask why. I’d list them but I think I’d just drive myself into a fit over how  _many of these reasons should be glaringly obvious_. I’m going with Sera.”

Evelyn looks at Bull, Ellana, and Mahanon.

Bull shrugs a shoulder, scratching his jaw as he looks around the area, “Your orders, Boss. Whatever you need done. S’my job.”

Mahanon just  _looks_  at her, turns around, and starts to follow after Dorian and Sera.

Evelyn’s eyes fall on Ellana. “Ellana,  _please_. For  _me_ , not for her.”

Ellana’s lips purse and for a moment Evelyn thinks that Ellana will leave, too.

But instead Ellana turns around, grabs Mahanon by the end of his braid and gives one hard tug. Mahanon almost falls back into the shin-deep water with a loud yell as Ellana starts to drag him back towards Evelyn and Bull.

“You are the worst sister I’ve ever had,” Mahanon hisses.

Ellana rolls her eyes and lets his braid go before letting out a loud and piercing caw.

Several yards away Dorian and Sera pause.

Mahanon shrugs at Dorian who waves his hands in a  _what are you doing?_  way.

“Fasta vass,” Dorian yells as he strides back towards them, “I can’t just leave Mahanon here, that’s unfair of you. Kaaras would have my head. And not in a very fun way, either.”

Sera follows after him, “I can’t be the  _only_  one who leaves. I’m not that kind of a tit. Alright. Fine. She’s going to like - poison us all or something. It’s on you, entirely. How do we find a white wyvern and what do we do with it?”

“We bring her its heart,” Evelyn answers.

Everyone, including Bull, look slightly unsettled. Sera leans her weight on one foot and leans back, looking at the others, “I’m…not the only one skeeved by that right?”

“No,” Mahanon says. “Definitely me, too.”

Evelyn turns to Bull, “Why are  _you_  looking like that?”

“I’m not squeamish or anything,” Bull says, “But the fact that she wants you to cut out its heart and bring it to her and you don’t know why is getting to me. I mean, if she just wanted it  _dead_  that’s one thing - she wants  _body parts_? Specifically its  _heart_? That’s…different.”

“People use animal hearts as spell components all the time, I don’t know why you’re all acting like this is something new and strange  _now_.”

“Why isn’t de Fer here to cut the heart out herself?” Mahanon asks.

“Sounds like a de Fer thing to do,” Sera mutters darkly.

“Because she doesn’t know that I’m doing it for sure, she doesn’t know that I’ve decided to do it now, and she doesn’t know that I’ve come here to do what she asked me to,” Evelyn says.

“Out of curiosity, why did you bring the people who would most definitely be adverse to helping de Fer?” Dorian asks.

“Because,” Evelyn says, “Mahanon and Ellana are amazing trackers, Sera is very good at handling materials, Bull is very good at killing things, and Dorian you’ve been complaining about being cooped up for the past few weeks.”

“She’s not wrong,” Bull says, “Can we get going? Before something decides to come up on us?”

“I don’t now what you expect Ellana and me to track,” Mahanon says, “You can’t determine the  _color_  of the wyvern based on the tracks.”

“But you can find the wyverns, and you can help us set up traps and get a jump on them,” Evelyn says. “And you’re very good with handling bodies.”

“You suck,” Sera says, pulling her bow back out and re-stringing it, “You owe me, Trevelyan. Making me help de Fer for you. When this comes around to bite us in the ass I don’t want you crying about it.”

“It won’t,” Evelyn says, “I don’t think Vivienne would have gone through all the trouble of getting the Inquisition this far just to kill us all with  _poison_.”

“You assume she’d be caught,” Dorian says, “And that I wouldn’t try to take her down with me.”

Ellana blows a raspberry and tosses her hair over her shoulder, pushing Dorian and Mahanon forward.

“We’ve got about six hours until sundown,” Evelyn says, clapping her hands sharply, “Come on. Let’s get this done.”


	109. Chapter 109

“I just want a nice, easy life, is there anything wrong with that?” Edric moans as he quickly cleans blood off one of his daggers.

“Says the man who’s just slit someone’s throat,” Mahanon mutters as she starts flipping through the books their target was attempting to ferry across the sea to the Free Marches. “Where’s his luggage?”

“This is it,” Sera says, running her hands over the walls, head cocked as she raps on panels and presses gently, “I’m not finding any compartments.”

“This can’t be it,” Mahanon says, “We saw him with a trunk when he came in here. Kaaras has been monitoring him, he hasn’t left this room.”

“Doesn't mean the trunk couldn’t have left the room,” Sera replies. “Check the floorboards.”

Mahanon and Edric both drop to the ground and start feeling around for panels, loose boards, irregularities, anything.

“And why are you suddenly complaining about life in the middle of a job?” Sera asks Edric as she starts going through the bedding - still made, the target didn’t even get a chance to sleep. “And you’re  _Carta_. Is a nice and easy life even  _possible_?”

“Don’t  _you_  ever get tired of getting assignments like this?” Edric asks. “It’s just a lot of trouble.”

“With purpose,” Mahanon says, “Sera.”

“What?”

“This,” Mahanon rubs his fingers over a section of flooring, “This isn’t dust. What is this?”

“Whatever it is, don’t lick it,” Sera says, stepping over the body that Edric let drop a few seconds ago, getting down onto the floor next to Mahanon. She runs her pinky finger over the area, rubbing it between her pinky and thumb. “Bring that light over.”

Mahanon stands up and gets the candle, bringing it down to her.

“Holy  _shit_ ,” Sera whispers as Mahanon carefully holds the flame away from her, eyes widening in realization.

“Is that -  _black powder_?”

“Cadash, confirm,” Sera waves Edric over.

“Ancestors,” Edric runs a hand over his head, “That  _is_  blasting powder. What is it doing  _here_?”

Mahanon stiffens, “The trunk. It wasn’t a trunk.”

The three of them look at each other, “Black powder transport.”

“Get the floorboards up,” Edric says, falling to his knees next to them.

Mahaon gets back up and puts the candle back on the table, far from the edge.

The three of them all pull out their daggers and start prying up floorboards.

“They’ve lined the entire fucking building in black powder,” Sera says, after they’ve pried up five boards from different sections of the room. “The crawl spaces, the walls - everything. It’s all black powder.”

“Why?” Edric asks.

Mahanon suddenly goes for the books. “Are we  _sure_  that this is  _our_  target?”

“What do you mean?”

“This is an Inquisition target,” Mahanon says, flipping through pages in earnest, “He’s been tagged by the Spymaster for assassination after being followed and traced for smuggled goods. But  _how_  did he come to our attention? Who pointed him out?”

 _It’s a trap_.

“Clear the room,” Edric says as Sera curses.

“We’ve been fucking  _played_.”

Mahanon throws the book down, swearing as the three of them bolt for the window.

-

“Okay, listen, Ellana, love, sweetheart,  _what did you bury in the garden_?” Herah calls out, trying to be as calm, patient, and not terrified sounding as she possibly can while Ellana suns herself on the roof of the Herald’s Rest.

Herah would go out there herself, but the patch of roof Ellana is on is precarious and Herah would rather not risk falling through and down three stories while Ellana lopes away like a particularly unaffected cat.

She  _did_  attempt to send Sera up there but Sera gave her a funny look at told her to send Mahanon instead.

Mahanon  _did_  attempt to get Herah to go instead, but Herah gave  _him_  an irritated look, and he went up there, talked with Ellana for a bit, and then left. She hasn’t seen him since.

“Ellana, listen, this is very important. This isn’t your normal it sounds important but isn’t important, this is actually important because people are concerned now and it’s right next to the chapel.”

Ellana rolls over.

“Do I need to get Evelyn?”

Nothing.

“Bull?”

Nothing.

“Max?”

Still nothing.

“Solas?”

Ellana scratches her butt.

The sheer lack of people who Ellana would consider authority figures is absolutely tragic and terrible at times like these.

“Josephine?”

Ellana sits up and rubs her eyes, giving Herah a bleary look.

When in doubt, Josephine.

“Ellana, what did you bury in the garden?” Herah repeats.

Ellana rummages around the various belts and pouches hanging around her waist and throws two at Herah.

They’re damp, strangely warm, and moving a little.

Herah resists the urge to drop them.

“Thank you,” Herah says instead, and starts to climb back into the Herald’s rest proper.

Just as Herahs’ back inside, she feels a tug on the end of her braid.

Ellana is hanging up side down from the roof, as she waves her hand at Herah.

“You go up there, I don’t think you need my help getting down.”

Ellana frowns.

Herah rolls her eyes and reaches back out the window to bring Ellana back in.

“Are you going to let me know what I should anticipate from these?” Herah asks, gesturing to the pouches Ellana gave her. “Because there are some disturbing sounds from the garden.”

Ellana blinks, eyebrows raising and she points towards Sera’s room.

“Sera?”

Ellana nods.

She points to the pouches in Herah’s hand, and then back to Sera’s room.

“Sera knows what these are?”

Ellana nods.

Well then. What the fuck was Herah wasting her time for?

Herah goes to Sera’s room, knocking twice before opening the door.

“You could have told me that you knew what it was this entire time,” Herah says. “Instead I was up there getting a sore neck for almost an hour trying to get this one to answer.”

Ellana kicks the back of Herahs’ calf.

Herah, graciously, does not kick her back. It’s also probably a good idea because Ellana might just keep kicking and one of those kicks might include some of that crazy strength of hers.

“Well you didn’t tell me what you wanted from her so how was I supposed to know?” Sera says. “I only figured it out after you started yelling at her and then I figured whatever.”


	110. Chapter 110

“I am not  _better_ ," Ellana had croaked out, “I will not  _be_  better.”

And then, softly, angrily, she admitted, “I don’t think I will ever be better.”

But she looked Evelyn in the eyes and when she said the next part Evelyn knew she meant it and it would tear them apart forever if she denied her this, “But if you or anyone else tries to prevent me from going to the Temple of Mythal you will have to put me in chains and bind me to a cage, Evelyn Trevelyan.”

At the time Evelyn had been torn.

Ellana’s recovery and progress towards - whatever and whoever she was? Which, according to Mahanon, had gotten much farther than it has ever had before in such a short amount of time. He had said -  _it normally takes her almost a year to return to speech_  - but there Ellana was. Speaking in about four months, even if the words were halted, the voice gravelly, and the phrases slow - relative normalcy versus brining her to the Temple of Mythal and all of the dangers that would bring with it.

The temptation to use her shape shifting magic again - and possibly slide into a place she can’t be brought back from.

But to hold Ellana back from what should have been her birthright - the birthright of every elf.

Evelyn couldn’t do that.

And now here they are.

“The ritual,” Ellana says, hand firm on Evelyn’s shoulder as she thinks through the fog of her own mind, “Mahanon.”

Mahanon is at her side in an instant and Ellana puts her other hand on his shoulder as she turns her face towards him and whispers under her breath, loud enough for Evelyn to hear but not the rest of their party. “ _Ghilana lasa ghilan athim. Garas.”_

Her brother frowns, and they quickly glance over towards Morrigan before looking back to each other and then Evelyn.

“She lies,” Mahanon says, “Her translation is incorrect. We know the ritual.”

“What?”

Ellana puts a finger to her lips, “Be silent. She and I both know what lies at the end of this path. A gift of Mythal’s, and these rituals are meant to guide us towards it. But we must show humility. We must ask supplication. The path will open with humility, Evelyn.”

“But why would she  _lie_?”

Mahanon sneers, “Have you heard her talking to my sister and me this entire time? She thinks we’re simpletons. She was literally  _explaining_  our gods to us. “

“She is proud,” Ellana says, “And she is plotting. Listen, trust me Evelyn. I know this ritual, this platform. Every Dalish child learns it by the time they’re five. Let Mahanon and I do this for you.”

“We are very low on time,” Evelyn says. “Can you do it quickly?”

“Yes,” they both answer.

“What is the ritual?” Evelyn asks.

“The squares,” Mahanon says, “Watch.”

Ellana climbs up onto the narrow border in front of the squares, raising her arms out to her sides, fingers elegantly poised, as she slowly moves forward.

A dance.

“One of he traditional dances,” Mahanon says to Evelyn, “The dance of humility.”

Underneath Ellana’s feet the squares light up, hum, and seem to come alive. Soon every tile glows and Ellana neatly jumps off.

“There will be others around here that we must complete,” Ellana says. “But we don’t have to break our way in.”

-

“It’s a pandemic,” Herah says, coughing wetly into her elbow as she hands Evelyn the latest list of names, “We have nowhere to quarantine anymore. And we’re running out of people well enough to care for the sick.”

“Any good news?” Evelyn asks. She was lucky in that she was one of the few who got it early in time to rebound before everyone else got sick.

“Mahanon’s stopped coughing up blood,” Herah replies. “But Ellana’s started. I swear they’re passing it off to each other.”

“That’s…lovely. Any  _real_  good news?”

“De Fer’s pulled some of her contacts and is having a convoy of supplies and healers sent from the former Colleges, or at least the ones she could find,” Herah says, “And Malika’s note to her mother must have gone through because we received an entire supply train this morning from the Carta.”

“From the Carta?”

“The Carta,” Herah confirms, coughing again. “A lot of food. Medicine. Some cloth for compresses and bandages. Liquor. Lots of liquor. I think dwarves treat everything with liquor, which I would get behind if it didn’t feel like my lungs were already half melted. As it is I barely managed not vomiting on Josephine this morning.”

“Good on you, Maxwell threw up on Cassandra yesterday and I think he’s ready for Andraste to take him away forever.”

Herah grimaces. “And Cassandra?”

“Very nice about it and understanding. She was also very feverish at the time and wasn’t all that much there.”

She kept murmuring to someone named  _Anthony_.

“Any word from the Chargers?”

“Wherever they’ve holed themselves up in Skyhold they’ve done it very well because no one’s seen any of them, unless Ellana’s holding out which I don’t think she is because she can barely move, let alone hold her eyes open to track down Bull or his lot,” Herah clears her throat, “Is it hot in here? It’s hot in here. It’s a fucking furnace in here. We’re in the middle of the fucking mountains surrounded by ice and snow and its hotter than a fucking pyre.”

“That’s the fever, Herah.”

“Bullshit it’s the fever, it’s got to be legitimately hot. It can’t be the fever.”

“No, it really - it’s the fever - come,  _Herah_  where are you going?”

“It’s not the fever, I’m going to find whatever the fuck is making it so hot and tell it to quit it.”

“Herah!” Evelyn turns to two guards, “Do you think you can get her to her quarters or do you need reinforcements?”

“Inquisitor, she’s a sick woman,” One of the guards says, “If anything she’s probably stronger than normal. We’re going to need at least one more person.”

“Fair,” Evelyn says, “Get Max to go with you.”


End file.
